


Two to Tango, Three to Kill

by hovercraft



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Noir, Blood and Gore, Crimes & Criminals, Detective Noir, Drugs, Exes, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Mystery, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2020, NaNoWriMo 2020 Winner, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rough Draft, Russian Roulette, Smoking, UST, nanowrimo winner, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hovercraft/pseuds/hovercraft
Summary: October 31st. A man pushes a senator's daughter off and down a rocky cliff, snuffing out her life in a flash. Multiple witnesses, a cop on the scene, and no chance of making it out without a life sentence. Arthur Pendragon is a private eye who would never take on the case in a million years, but the perpetrator is an old flame, and a phone call from a concerned friend only reaffirms what he set out to do.Gilgamesh, a man who runs between the lines of the law, claims he did it, but Arthur knows in his heart that he's protecting someone. He needs the truth-- saving him might mean Arthur finally saves himself.(NaNoWriMo 2020 project.)
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Archer/Arthur Pendragon | Saber, James Moriarty | Archer/William Shakespeare | Caster of Red
Comments: 38
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you like it here?”

Gilgamesh looked at him like he was teasing him. “I was more at home in New York, you know this. Chicago isn’t bad, but… it lacks something _enchanting_. New York had a certain symbiosis its people shared, where everyone felt like kindred spirits. There’s something cold about Chicago. Friendlier, but the smiles are fake.”

Arthur was so taken with this man. He knew he ran with upper elites and mob bosses, but he couldn’t help it. He had the ego of a hot-air balloon with the propane to back it up, and he liked people who made life harder for him, for some reason-- he liked opposites, he liked contrast just as much as he liked finding someone warm and familiar. Arthur, early in his career as an officer, had been asked to investigate him for shady dealings, and Gilgamesh sussed him out almost immediately.

He didn’t threaten him or chase him off, though. No, he welcomed Arthur into his world as if inviting the challenge, and Arthur would stand up to him in the _cutest_ ways, and sooner rather than later they’re tugging at clothes and pressing kisses along collarbones and all sorts of delightful things. It was Arthur’s secret, but Gilgamesh’s pride.

“Your smile is a little fake too, Arthur.”

Arthur seemed taken aback. “But I feel like myself around you.”

“Around me, sure, but I see how cloyingly sweet you are to other people around you, hardly befitting a Private Eye. You melt people with your words and then become confused when they stick to you. I think you almost prefer being alone because being a gentle hero is _such_ hard work.”

Arthur was the detective, and yet Gilgamesh was outpacing his deductions in every way.

“I bet there’s nothing you hate more than a fake persona,” Arthur spoke softly.

“I don’t care for it if it’s excessive, but I relish the challenge of digging up the real person underneath. You have proven to be quite the excavation. One I won’t be bored of anytime soon. I’m tempted to tell you to let others see your imperfect beauty, but the other half of me wants to keep it all to myself. A secret Arthur, all for me.”

Arthur took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “You will have me for as long as you want me, I promise you this.”

… and Gilgamesh smiled, knowing Arthur wasn’t going to keep that promise, but the way he spoke was so antiquated and reminiscent of a knight offering a favor that it charmed him all the same. Maybe he would, but Gilgamesh knew his life was too fast for Arthur to keep up with, and they’d separate eventually. Gilgamesh may have possessed many treasures of the world, but the best ones were usually only kept fleetingly.

Arthur Pendragon, if only you weren’t so good.

\--

Light pollution prevented Arthur from ever seeing the stars, and sometimes he yearned for their presence on nights when he had to walk home to his small flat in downtown Chicago.

Dealing with grieving family members was always a depressing task in his field of work. Hired to find a child that had gone missing and only turning up at their doorstep to say he found them, all right— by interrogating a serial killer behind bars and dragging the information out by his tongue that matched the ID of the victim and where they were seen last, usually in a shallow grave at the state park. Arthur wasn’t made for a job like this, even if his talents were solely to serve and save others. It was depressing to deposit checks from weeping mothers and fathers who now had to plan for a funeral. He’d refused payment so many times that he was behind on rent, and this time, couldn’t afford to say no.

Nobility did not earn money in this era.

This area of Chicago was full of restaurants from all over, a theater just down the street that Arthur had never visited nor intended to and a pharmacy that he tended to get all of his late-night shopping from. He was always paying a little bit too much because he never went to a proper grocery store, but he viewed it as supporting the locals and didn’t mind.

His apartment building was shabby, close to neon lights that shone through his bedroom window that he’d gotten accustomed to while trying to sleep. He knew there was little food in the pantry, but before he ate, he made it a rule for his cats to eat first. Having been strays until Arthur scooped them up off the streets, they meowed incessantly until their bellies were full and then some. Still, the Siamese cat and common tabby were his only companions. As he filled their bowls with kibble and watched them practically unhinge their jaws to swallow as much as possible, he decided to turn on the TV.

Pressing the button in the lower right corner, the static brushed his knuckle and the screen flickered on to some variety hour program. The noise was a welcome distraction as he focused on the one thing that gave him joy when alone; cooking. The subtle, slightly wet sound of his knife slicing through vegetables was almost therapeutic. Zucchini was pushed into a cast-iron pan and fried; minced meat followed along with a homemade tomato sauce that he’d bought from an Italian family. He opened the kitchen window and snipped some herbs from his little garden that grew there, washed them, and scraped them in after finely mincing them.

That was when the phone rang, and Arthur let out a sigh as he turned the stove on low.

“Arthur?”

“Speaking.”

“I need you out here.”

Just as he was getting comfortable. “What for, Lancelot?”

There was a tense pause from the man on the other line, knowing Arthur’s life was one set of bad news after the other. “A murder. Someone you know was involved.”

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and asked, “The deceased? Perpetrator? Witness?”

“Perpetrator.”

Arthur grit his teeth, eyes firmly closed as he tried to breathe deeply and steady himself. “Who.”

“Gilgamesh,” Lancelot continued. “Arthur, I understand if you don’t want to come down—”

“I have to.”

Lancelot understood. That was why he called in the first place—Arthur couldn’t bear learning about this on the news instead of in person.

“Where?”

“Montrose Beach.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Arthur—”

“Yes?”

“Take care.” Lancelot was hesitating and Arthur knew it, sensing his desire to say more. The ‘take care’ didn’t really fit in with their conversation, but he knew he was trying, at least.

Arthur hung up.

He made his way back to the kitchen, turned the stove off, double-checked to make sure it was off and pushed the half-cooked contents into a container to put in the refrigerator. He gave his cat a small pat before putting his coat back on again and looking over his apartment one last time with a melancholy stare before leaving it behind him.

Waving with one arm up, he hailed a cab and hopped in, grateful for the warmth inside that his apartment lacked at the moment. Anything to get his mind off of fucking Gilgamesh and _what did he do now?_ The man could be a bastard, but a murderer? That had to be some kind of mistake. Even knowing the type of people he ran with, that was a stretch.

The city’s numerous buildings sped by him at such a fast pace that Arthur was having trouble recalling them all. All he noted was that Wrigley Field looked completely empty as they drove past it-- not a surprise during the World Series.

Montrose Beach was still under construction for the most part-- it was being smoothed over and rebuilt into a proper vacation spot. Arthur could see the police lights on a cliff overlooking the lake and numerous people gathered by the edge. He paid his fare and slammed the cab door shut behind him, making his way over to the chief of police.

“Arthur! Thank god you’re here, I--”

“Lancelot,” Arthur was curt, tense. “What happened here?”

“Right…” Despite the difference in rank between the two of them, it was Lancelot who seemed to revere Arthur with more respect, not that Arthur didn’t respect him in turn. It was like the paradigm of leadership was reversed between them. “At 11, we got a call that someone pushed someone else over the railing here. Fortunately, there was a cop nearby who apprehended the suspect right away. Apparently, he was just staring over the edge, shell-shocked…”

“Gilgamesh?”

“Yes, we discussed this,” Lancelot cleared his throat. “He’s being interviewed back at the station. He’s already confessed.”

“What?!”

“Says the other person shoved him and he shoved her back. Didn’t count on knocking her all the way over, poor girl.”

Something about that… didn’t seem right to Arthur. He knew Gilgamesh, he knew he wouldn’t rise to the provocation of someone shoving him simply by shoving them back, especially a woman. That was beneath him, and he certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to push someone near a ledge.

“And witnesses saw this?”

“They saw the victim shove him and then heard her fall.”

“An ID on the body?”

“None yet...”

“Take me there.”

There was a winding set of stairs built into the cliffside that lead down towards the beach. Arthur no longer needed to steel himself witnessing a body, but the sight was still a very unpleasant one.

Empty eyes stared sideways toward the lake, blood pooled and cooled beneath her cranium into the sand. Her arm was bent at an unnatural angle, and a nasty bloody gnash ripped upside her head. She must have broken it in the fall, but it didn’t seem unusual at first. Arthur walked around the crime scene investigators to get a good look at the surrounding area. A heavy stone, covered in blood laid right beside her head-- no doubt what she hit it on on the way down. It’d kill anyone, but at this height?

Arthur didn’t want to believe what he was seeing, but if Gilgamesh confessed, it was an open and shut case. A fight turned wrong. He searched the cliff, taking a pair of gloves from the investigators and tried to find something, anything that would incriminate someone else. There was nothing. The murder weapon was the cliff itself.

“Gilgamesh wouldn’t…”

Lancelot sounded rather sad, responding to him. “If he was shoved, he has a self-defense case at least, honestly, and with the right lawyers--”

“I don’t care about that,” Arthur said solemnly, taking several footsteps back from the crime scene. “What about footprints? Were there any strange ones around the body?”

“Unfortunately, this area is well-traveled by tourists and joggers. We did note three sets of footprints, but the cop who arrived at the crime scene, trying to revive the victim, ruined most of them.”

“Damn it. Any chance someone was below?”

“I mean-- of course? But what would they have done? Caught the victim then murdered her in cold blood when they had someone above them doing it for them?”

Arthur knew it sounded ridiculous, but he was grasping at straws. Besides, there was no murder weapon identifiable at the moment. “Time between the murder and the police arriving?”

“About fifteen minutes. No time at all.”

“Hm… am I allowed to interview him?”

“Are you… sure you want to?”

“I have to see him face to face, don’t I?”

“You really think you’ll get something out of him?”

“Gilgamesh is always hiding something he’s too proud to admit.”

“Sounds like you know him well.”

Arthur shot him a Look.

“I just didn’t expect him to be at the center of a case again.”

Lancelot looked at Arthur with those pitying eyes, the ‘you’re wasted on him’ kind of eyes, or the ‘if you let me into your life, I could treat you a lot better than he ever did’ eyes, even if Arthur either chose not to acknowledge that or didn’t notice the look. Besides, it wasn’t as if Gilgamesh was in his life anymore… until now, anyway.

“When do you think interrogation will end?”

“Assuming it’s not done and over with now-- you could probably visit him in the morning.”

“Are you suggesting that as a police chief, or as a friend?”

“Police chief. We probably won’t allow visitors until then--” Lancelot glanced to the side, before looking at Arthur dead on. “Are you sure you want to take this case?”

“Why? It’s open and shut, isn’t it?”

“You know why.”

Arthur winced, staring at the ground before nodding. “I want the truth, and I’m going to get it. I know it’s just an instinct, but… this doesn’t feel as cut and dry as it looks.”

As he made his way back up the steps, Lancelot followed. “You’re not going to sleep tonight, are you?”

“No, sir. Won’t be able to.”

“Would you like any company?”

“Aren’t you still busy here?” Arthur asked it gently, knowing the rude snap the words could usually carry. “The body is still on the ground and the investigation is sure to--”

“I meant-- later--...” but in saying this, Lancelot only looked defeated by the obvious logic in front of them.

In a better world, and if Arthur were a better person, he would have said yes, he’d love the company, but the name ‘Gilgamesh’ brought up so many memories, good and bad, that he just preferred to be alone at the moment. He couldn’t imagine that man in prison for killing a woman, he just couldn’t… and he knew crimes of passion, where accidents happened that you couldn’t help, but he knew Gilgamesh.

That man didn’t make mistakes.

Knowing he was going to be up until the police station let him in, he found a 24-7 diner open and pushed the glass door inward, the little bell above him jingling and signaling his arrival.

It wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t exactly spotless, either. The _Chicago Tribune_ newspaper vendor immediately to his right, he popped in a dime and pulled out the now outdated rag as reading material for the next several hours. Knowing he was going to be fighting off sleep, he took a seat at the counter and asked the equally tired waitress for some coffee. In a pot that had no doubt been brewing for the past four hours, she poured him a mug of it.

“Where’s your wife, kid? You look too young to be pulling graveyard shifts.”

“Ha ha…” Arthur tried to deflect the topic immediately. “I’m a detective. Late case.”

The woman gave him a pitying look and left him alone to his clammy newspaper and hot coffee.

As much as Arthur tried to focus on the newspaper, and he really truly did, none of the words quite made it through his mind. It was as if they were bouncing off the thoughts of Gilgamesh and falling back out again. His old flame who would go to and from New York, who left him in the dust to keep up with socialite life. He wouldn’t say they were bitter exes, just that life took them in different directions, that Arthur had always wanted to help people and Gilgamesh had always wanted to take from them.

If you asked him if he still loved Gilgamesh, he’d change the subject as naturally as one could. If you put a gun to his head, he’d probably say yes. The real answer was somewhere in between those. Knowing he should move on but not having the heart to. Spending days at his would-be boss’s house trying to forget. Arthur Pendragon was consistent in one thing; he fell in love hard and when he said he’ll love you forever, he meant it. That was why Guin was so hard to get over, and why Gilgamesh felt so different.

The coffee was bitter, but he kept ordering it until the sun rose and he could finally toss this newspaper and make his way down to the police station. He took a roll of ones from his pocket and left enough for his caffeine and a generous tip.

The main building of the CPD was massive, pillars lining the entryway as Arthur made his way up the steps. Navigating the place would be simpler if it were a labyrinth, but the man at the front desk was a friend.

“Agravain?”

“I was expecting you.” Unlike Arthur, Agravain looked like he got some sleep last night, and woke up exactly at 5 AM to get ready for work, per usual. As far as Arthur knew, Agravain followed the strictest schedule of his day to day life and rarely deviated from it, even to hang out with coworkers. Still, the lines on his face were perfectly indicating constant stress that only working for the police could give you.

“Where is…?”

“Downstairs, in a jail cell. I can set up an interrogation room for you,” He immediately started pressing buttons on his phone to dial someone up just for that task. “He’s been entirely cooperative, I trust you’ll have no problems with him?”

Ah. Even Agravain knew about their sordid past. “I won’t.”

After a few words spoken on the phone, Agravain pointed him down the corridor and gave him instructions. Arthur was steeling himself for the conversation about to come. Was he eager to see Gilgamesh? Yes and no. Yes… because he practically yearned for the damn man in the late parts of the night, and no, because now he was being treated like a criminal and quite possibly deserved it.

Arthur took a seat in the room and tried not to stare when Gilgamesh was brought in, in handcuffs and a jumpsuit.

It was such a relief to see him, but also…

“Gilgamesh, what did you do?”

The man sat across from him and scoffed, wearing a wry grin that betrayed his exhaustion from the previous night. “Didn’t they tell you? I pushed a woman off a cliff and she’s dead. You’d think that’d be--”

“I know you didn’t,” Arthur responded curtly.

“Really, Arthur? With witnesses? You’re going to go this route? I have good lawyers, you know--”

“It’s the principle, and I know you. You wouldn’t shove a woman just because she pushed you first. You’d… cross your arms and laugh at her or something.” Arthur was quite clearly trying to justify what was going on, but he wasn’t giving up here and now. Gilgamesh might have lawyers who could bail him out of this, but he knew there was more… Arthur continued.

“Tell me the scene, exactly as it happened,” Arthur took out a notepad with several ripped-off sheets to write it down.

“I was called by Olga Marie to the park at 11. She wanted to talk about my father running for the same spot in the election--”

Arthur was floored.

“Olga Marie? Olga Marie Animusphere? _That’s_ the victim?”

“You didn’t know?”

Arthur stared at him intensely. “You killed the senator’s daughter. That’s what you’re saying?”

“...”

“You didn’t. You couldn’t. You’re not stupid enough.”

“Oh? You know me so well--”

“I know you better than anyone. You’re… you’re covering something up. You wouldn’t sacrifice yourself for an accident. You would have a better story. You would have your lawyers here already.”

Gilgamesh leaned back in his chair, leering at Arthur. “You better not investigate this case, Pendragon. It’s done.”

“I have to. You’re lying.”

“...” Gilgamesh said nothing, which told Arthur enough.

“Who are you covering for?”

Gilgamesh stiffened but stayed silent.

“I know you wouldn’t make this many mistakes without a reason, Gil. I’m not stupid.”

“Listen to me,” Gilgamesh leaned in dangerously. “I pushed the girl of the ledge. It was an accident. People saw me do it. There is nothing you can do with a confession.”

“Marisbury Animusphere won’t just let this go, Gilgamesh! You could face the death penalty.”

“Oh, please, my lawyers aren’t that bad.”

“I know you. You can be one of the most selfish people on the planet. What on earth is worth throwing yourself under the bus for?”

“... I’m done here,” Gilgamesh stood up with a bitter expression on his face. “I mean it, Pendragon. Don’t investigate this case.”

“I have to,” Arthur said quietly. “I… I owe you that much.”

Gilgamesh gave him such a crudely pitying glance. “Oh Arthur, I took so much from you and you’re still claiming I’m the one who gave you purpose? Please.”

Arthur said nothing, knowing Gilgamesh was acting cruelly for the sole purpose of pushing him away. Reading people was a two-way street, and Gilgamesh wasn’t the only one looking past the other’s defenses. As Gilgamesh was led back to his cell by a police officer, Arthur sat in the room, fist clenched, before realizing he should make it home to take care of his cats before pursuing his leads… assuming he had any. There was always revisiting the crime scene…

Another cab ride, this time right to his doorstep. It was too far to walk unless you felt particularly ambitious that day. He’d stop in, make sure his pets were fine, and then head back out by the Metra or bus. He’d still have clearance to the crime scene, so maybe he’d find something…

But it was no sooner than he entered that his phone started to ring.

Actually, it might have been ringing the whole time-- he distinctly remembered the jingle coming up the stairs, wondering if he’d imagined it. He picked it up after Lucy, the tabby cat jumped on his shoulders to come along for the ride.

“Hello?”

“Arthur Pendragon’s residence, I’m presuming?”

“This is he.”

“What’s this? You don’t recognize my voice? Come on, Arthur, we were associates once upon a time!”

Arthur froze.

The only person that voice could have belonged to was none other than the mob kingpin of the south side, Ozymandias. A close and dear friend of Gilgamesh’s, who Arthur did his best to keep at arm’s length.

“I presumed we would never be speaking again,” Arthur firmly responded after a moment.

“I did too until Gilgamesh got arrested for murder. I still remember the job you did finding Arash’s killer. I’m eternally grateful for it, too. Believe it or not, I’m a big fan of _justice.”_

_“Only when it’s doled out to suit your needs,”_ Arthur thought. “Rest his soul. I’m guessing you want me to figure out if Gil really did it?”

“Oh? You’re still on nickname basis?”

Arthur flinched. “... sorry. Old habit.”

The sharp, loud laughter on the other end of the phone caused Arthur to pull the receiver from his ear until it dissipated.

“That being said, I don’t want you to just find out if Gilgamesh did it, I want you to find out who really did. They won’t let him go without another suspect, Marisbury Animusphere will see to that.”

“I intended to do just that.”

“As an incentive, I’ll make sure you never have to work again.”

“Is that a threat or are you offering me money?”

“Arthur, it hurts that you distrust me so. Yes, it’s money, but also…”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Arthur, I take protection money from your neighborhood. I know you’re broke. Are you so above a paycheck from my bank account?”

Arthur clenched his teeth. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I don’t care if it’s right. If you do the job, you’re taking my money. But also… if you fail, I’m going to be more than a little angry. I might see to it to take it out on you. No other investigator worth their salt would dare take on this case, so I’m counting on you.”

“So _now_ it’s a threat.”

“We both care deeply about ‘Gil’…” He could hear Ozymandias get comfortable on the other line. “And I know you already have all the incentive you need. I just wanted to provide a little more.”

“You’re bizarre. Bartering for something you already know I’ll do. Why waste the money or the bullets?”

“No one else will reward you for your efforts, why shouldn’t I? Gilgamesh has a good reason for keeping his mouth shut, so he won’t help you any.”

“Do you know what that reason is?” Arthur was desperate for a lead.

“He was tight-lipped with me when he used up his one call. Wouldn’t even tell me…” Ouch… for there to be secrets between them, one of Gilgamesh’s closest allies, it had to be serious. “But I have some guesses.”

“What are they?” Arthur quickly rustled around for the notepad in his pocket, eager to take notes as he held the receiver by tilting his head against his shoulder.

“I wonder if someone forced him to do it under the threat of harming someone close to him. Enkidu, maybe? Or…”

Blackmail-based murder is still murder, but it was getting somewhere, even if Gilgamesh was an unmovable rock when it came to threats. “Or?”

“Gilgamesh lives a very dangerous life. He flirts with my mob and New York’s mob and money passes through his hands between them. He has no blood-related parents, but one big secret.”

“What is that?”

“He has a sibling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes:
> 
> \- **Montrose Beach** IRL is completely flat these days. Please suspend your disbelief (lol) and pretend in the 1940's, it had a cliff.  
> \- I still don't know what to do about era-appropriate homophobia, but I also dislike writing it immensely. We'll get there when we get there, I guess?  
> \- This is my first true murder mystery, and as a NaNoWriMo project, _is entirely a rough draft_. I don't have time to beta and revise it without taking out time from writing, you know?  
> \- This is also my first time writing an original character into a Fate fanfiction ~~even if they're not entirely original~~. I hope you can forgive their inclusion!


	2. Chapter 2

“... what?”

Gilgamesh had never mentioned it, though Ozymandias had a point. It was probably for their protection.

“Who are they?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a clue,” On the other end of the line, Ozymandias was bringing a glass of amber liquor to his lips. “He let it slip one evening when he was near-drunk and refused to say a word after. Got heated with me if I ever brought it up again. I trust you can investigate further, Arthur? Impress me with your detective work! I know how _thorough_ you are.”

Arthur sighed. There was no getting through to Ozymandias that he wanted nothing to do with him, and now a threat hung over his head like a cloud bringing thunder.

“We still don’t know if he was protecting someone or not.”

“You’re the man to figure out motives. Mine was merely a suggestion, but we both know things are never this simple when Gilgamesh is involved.”

Arthur nodded. He glanced at the clock hanging above his mantle, a cat-shaped clock his late sister had bought him. It was still early in the morning, and there were leads to pursue all around. He knew the address of Gilgamesh’s apartment, but the scene of the crime could erode the longer he was away from it. He wondered if the police had even started searching it.

His apartment was closer than the scene of the crime, so he supposed he could visit it on the way. He still had a key, given to him as a precious gift once upon a time. Arthur had never used it. Like a vampire, he always waited to be invited first. This time, he’d have to sneak in. It was entirely possible that the police didn’t know his address yet, and crucial evidence could await him before it got stuck into sorting bins at the police station.

He poured a day’s worth of food into his cats’ dishes, along with some tap water, and left.

\--

Chicago always felt cozy. Maybe it was the plains that surrounded it or the tight-knit position of the buildings, but Arthur could never really relax whenever he was in New York, for more than one reason. Chicago felt like home in the same way Gilgamesh considered the bright lights of New York welcoming. It wasn’t the capital of the world and it was safely landlocked, meaning all the trouble that came with it burst from within.

Farmers would call Chicago a festering ground for crime, and they were right in some respects, but in the daylight, as Arthur passed art galleries advertising new, modern work, he felt like Chicago dragged him in and made him appreciate it. That’s why he was so devoted to cleaning up its dark side.

Gilgamesh’s apartment was above one such art gallery, a high-rise penthouse where the wealthy roamed, with a view of the lake to die for. Naturally, his apartment faced the east, where he could see the sunrise peek in through his white sheets pulled up over his head. Or maybe… that was just a memory Arthur had of the apartment when they were as together as the two of them could be.

Whatever one’s opinion of Gilgamesh was, whether you adored him for his charisma and raw power or despised him for his ego and cruelty, there was no denying once setting foot into his apartment that he was an affluent man. Vases stood tall, strategically placed so that you’d notice and ask about them. Paintings hung on the wall with the texture to verify their authenticity, begging you to touch them while the host wasn’t looking, reading their colors like braille. Statues from the Middle East decorated parts of the room. Gilgamesh’s bed, which Arthur was more intimately acquainted with than any other part of his room, was a California king-sized monstrosity covered in a white duvet.

But he wasn’t here to admire the scenery. He was here to look for clues.

Having pulled on some black gloves before he even touched the door, he began leafing through Gilgamesh’s mail, first and foremost. He had so little of it, there were some bills, but they were usually promptly paid, unlike Arthur’s, so they were infrequent. One unopened envelope didn’t have a return address, written in red ink and sealed with chipped wax. Nothing could stick out like a sore thumb more. Arthur unsealed it, whispering a small apology to Gilgamesh as he did so.

It was surprisingly short.

Gil,

When are you coming to pick me up?

I’m terribly bored without you. You rarely visit anymore.

We could play chess again. I still have the board exactly as it was last time…

_-Adel_

Arthur had no idea who ‘Adel’ was, but Gilgamesh kept many contacts. No doubt this could be a friend or lover teasing him into coming to darken their doorstep, but the wax seal was something else. It was perfectly in line with Gilgamesh’s aesthetic, and something no one ever did anymore, at least not through the post.

Could this be the sibling? A hereditary need for being as superfluous as possible could run in the family blood. Arthur took a good look at the symbol imprinted on the wax. It was a horned creature of some kind, curling up and outward, like some sort of devil. Asking Gilgamesh about it could cause him to freeze on the topic entirely, or he might candidly reveal their identity-- if they were unimportant. Best not to show his hand just yet.

Arthur searched the rest of the apartment for any sign of premeditation and found a notepad by Gilgamesh’s phone. The most recent entry was ripped out, but the indentations left by pen were still there. He rustled around in the drawer beneath it to find a pencil sharpened enough for the job, and delicately-- _delicately_ shaded out the message.

What he found was more than incriminating.

“ 10:45 - Olga “

Arthur wondered briefly if he should leave the notepad here or risk it and take it with him, but when he heard the heavy sound of boots coming down the hallway and recognized them as suspiciously close to police-issue, having heard them his whole life, his decision was made for him. Hastily stuffing the notepad into his pocket, he made his way to the fire exit and as quick as a thief, made his escape. Sure enough, cop cars, now vacant, were parked in the car park just across the way. He had to disappear and quickly.

Like Fortuna herself had blessed him, a bus came rolling up to the curb and he quickly got on, shoving bus fare into the little coin box and taking his seat between a heavily pregnant woman and a man who looked just shy of eighty.

The bus wasn’t going exactly where he needed to be, but he could walk the rest of the blocks to Montrose Beach anyway. That was stop two-- trying to find anything that the investigators didn’t find.

Time was of the essence, so as his brisk pace cut through people on the street, he was hardly aware of the fact that his hat was near tumbling off, just barely catching it in time to shove it back onto his head. Montrose Beach was roped off with a few officers standing around, shooing away passerby. Arthur flashed the pass that Lancelot had given him and decided to investigate the scene where it happened-- the top of the cliff.

Police had already taken what they needed from the crime scene, so nothing of value seemed to be left. After thirty minutes of searching, Arthur didn’t have anything to go off of. He’d have to visit the Police Station yet again to check out the evidence.

Glancing out over the vast lake, there was no question to Arthur as to why he was doing this. Loyalty held and protected his heart like a bony prison of ribs-- the regret always too much to bear if he ever gave up on someone, even when they’d hurt him, even if things had fallen to the wayside, never to be picked up. Arthur had painted as a hobby, once, and Gilgamesh, ever the patron of the arts, had sponsored him into galleries and the like. In his twenties, he had been well known for a few of his Impressionist paintings, and Gilgamesh had proudly bought a few with a tip too generous for Arthur to accept, so he funneled them back into dates with the man.

It was when Gilgamesh started showing up less frequently to those shows, to eventually stopping altogether, that Arthur had realized he no longer cared. He dropped the hobby and sold the last of his work, not keeping even a single piece. There was a certain heartbreak in someone supporting you with all of their heart suddenly no longer seeing the magic in your work. It almost hurt more than Arthur realizing Gilgamesh no longer loved him.

Almost.

But he’d live.

Lost in thoughts but for a moment, Arthur stood back up and made his way back across the police line when someone had suddenly, and quite rudely, stepped in front of him.

“Elisabeth Bathory, Chicago Tribune. Are you one of the people working on the case?”

How quickly word got out to the newspapers. He had no doubt this would be the headline story the next day. Arthur pursed his lips before lying.

“I’m just on the cleanup crew, sorry.”

As if Elisabeth didn’t hear him, she continued on, walking with him as she tried to drag any detail out of him. “Is it true that Olga Marie Animusphere is dead?”

“Talk to the police about what happened here.”

“Is it true she was pushed? Do you have a name for the killer?” Elisabeth stopped. “Is it a serial killer or a crime of passion?!”

Arthur ignored her and hailed another cab. Even as they drove off, she was still asking questions-- this time to the stalwart police that stood by the ropes. He knew she wouldn’t get anything out of them. He was surprised Elisabeth didn’t recognize him-- she was always at the scenes of his investigations. Count one blessing for short-term memory.

By now, thoughts of Gilgamesh were tearing through his mind, cutting open old wounds that had covered chasms of loss and regret. It only took one person to change your life forever before they flitted out of it like a hummingbird onto the next flower. He looked so out of place in that jumpsuit, like he expected his jewelry to still be on him even in jail. It felt wrong. Arthur wasn’t doing this to score points with him, either. If Gilgamesh didn’t care about him, then he didn’t care about him, but ever since that case…

Well.

He knew the man intimately, one could just leave it there.

The pitter-patter of cold autumn rain began to fall, Arthur getting out of the cab once he realized he only had so much fare money on him. Cursing himself for not bringing an umbrella, he tried to plan his next move. He decided to call the one person he could rely on right now.

He still had enough money for the payphone, stepping into the booth to call the police chief himself.“

“Lancelot du Lac? Please and thank you,” Arthur crossed his arms, leaning on the windowpane as drops of water ran down it, waiting for the operator to connect him.

“Arthur? How far have you gotten?”

Lancelot was always there for him, ever since Arthur was on the police force himself. They were partners, once. Lancelot had a family with one of Arthur’s old flames and the children, Galahad and Mash, had to be teenagers by now. He was divorced, for what reason Arthur could never know. Seemed like the perfect husband. Lancelot was the only reason Arthur could set foot into the main building as a private eye and have full clearance-- even if all his old coworkers maintained a degree of friendship and respect for him.

“I have a few leads.”

Lancelot sounded happy on the other end of the line. “As expected of you! What kind of leads?”

“Gilgamesh could have been protecting someone,” He left out Ozymandias’ involvement in coming to that deduction. “Maybe his best friend. Maybe his sibling.”

“Should we ask him about it?”

  
“No, not yet. Prod him about the motive and he’ll shut up tighter than a clam. Plus, the sibling is a secret. I want to try and track them down myself. I have a lead on their name-- Adel.”

“Do you need me to send someone into records and try to find someone related to Gilgamesh?”

“Don’t. His records would be in New York, not Chicago. I don’t know if the NYPD would cooperate--”

“A senator’s daughter is dead. I’m sure they would, Arthur,” Lancelot pushed gently.

“Well… if you don’t mind the extra work.”

“I know how important this is to you,” Lancelot sounded, vaguely, like he was regretful of that statement. “I’ll get on it.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Stay safe.”

Arthur hung up the phone and found himself back in Gilgamesh’s apartment district. While the apartment was sure to be off-limits (or available but devoid of clues, as Arthur had left it), there was his neighbors, too. They could know about Adel or what happened the night Gilgamesh left. Making a bee-line for the building, Arthur wasted no time heading back for the top.

This was always the hardest part of canvasing a case-- the faulty memories of those around him. The first door he knocked on was his next-door neighbor. A tall woman opened the door, with long, violet hair. She held a baby in her arms.

“Hello, miss…?”

“Aah, it’s Raikou. Raikou Minamoto.”

“Right,” Arthur might have been more preoccupied with her beauty had he not had other things on his mind. “Do you know your next-door neighbor very well?”

“Oh, has there been an incident?” Worry creased her face. “I hope he’s alright…”

“He’s… fine. I just want to know some things. First, can you tell me what happened on the night of the 31st? Did you hear anything from this side of your apartment? Arguments?”

“No, not at all. The walls are rather thin, too, so I know what he gets up to.”

Arthur cleared his throat, jotting down some notes on the paper pad he’d taken from Gilgamesh’s apartment. “Does he have frequent visitors?”

Raikou stared at Arthur as if trying to place his face, but gave up. “Only a few. A dark-haired man with a lot of golden jewelry--”

Arthur wrote down ‘Ozymandias.’

“--my son, Kintoki, will drop by his place to help fix his car, the kind dear--”

Arthur wrote down ‘Kintoki Minamoto’ before Raikou corrected him and said ‘Sakata’.

“And there’s this girl…” Raikou tapped her chin before readjusting the baby in her arms to be more secure. “Her hair is so fair it looks white, but I think it’s just blonde. She’s a petite thing. Couldn’t be older than her teens.”

That was… unusual. Arthur wrote down the description and wrote ‘Sister??’ beside it. “Where does your son work? I’d like to ask him some questions.”

“Oh, he’s just down two blocks south. Golden Motors. He should be working there today.”

“Thank you.”

Arthur gave the other neighbors the same questions, but none were quite so thorough and remembering as Raikou. Deciding his next lead to be Kintoki, he decided to step inside Gil’s apartment to tamper with the scene just a little bit more-- by taking an umbrella by the door when no one was looking. Gil would find it in his heart to forgive him, sure.

The walk to Golden Motors was damp and frigid, but at least there was no snow-- too much for the beginning of November. He tried to look for someone by resemblance, but no one looked even a bit like Minamoto Raikou, until he noticed the boisterous man in sunglasses, covered in grease after working on a red car that was currently held aloft by a car lift. He approached Arthur first, offering a slightly slick hand to shake.

“Oi, what can I get for ya?”

“Some… questions,” Arthur answered, flashing his credentials. “About your neighbor.”

  
Kintoki seemed to be caught off guard by it, not quite sensing immediately that something had gone wrong. “Oh, oh sure. Come inside the shop. We can talk while I work.”

Arthur did his best to ignore the dizzying scent of gasoline and oil as Kintoki got down on a mechanic’s creeper and rolled himself beneath another car. Apparently, the grind stopped for no one, not even a detective. 

“So what can I help you with? Gilgamesh, right? What’d he do?”

“He’s in some hot water with the police. I need to know who goes in and out of his apartment, and what happened the night of-- … the 31st.”

“Oh, that’s easy. A real tan guy with dark hair visits him a lot, there’s this young dame who drops by every now and then, but I never got a good look at’er. Then there’s this person with the longest hair I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t tell ya any more about them, though.”

“And that night?”

“I just got home from work around ten, I think… Ma scolded me for not being on time for dinner, but I did hear a door slam a little while later. I think it might’a been his, that side of the apartment and all. Didn’t hear anything other than that.”

“Like a second set of footsteps?”

“No, sir.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

Kintoki rolled back out, giving Arthur a look. “I’m gonna be real honest with ya. Gilgamesh is a _golden_ guy. I don’t think he would actually do anythin’ real serious… has more pride than gettin’ his hands dirty.”

“I know,” Arthur responded, nodding. “We go back.”

“Best of luck on your search. That’s all I have.”

Arthur was once again with no leads. He’d call in a favor from Ozymandias, who he knew would help, but he didn’t have the man’s phone number… only a location where he might be. If anyone could track down the mysterious Adel, it’d be him, even if he had faith in Lancelot’s research. He could feel the telltale signs of sleepiness dragging down on him, but the first 48 hours of the investigation were crucial. He couldn’t afford to rest.

It was easy to recall memories of when his Private Eye agency was more bustling, with cases given to him more than once every couple of weeks. Gilgamesh had helped him with a few-- the man was brilliantly clever and had given Arthur more than his fair share of hints. He relished the challenge and had even spent several sleepless nights with him pulling strings to find missing people and return them home. Arthur wondered if Gil’s contacts ever resented him for that, but he’d helped so much in building Arthur’s reputation, despite his own capability.

When Arthur was at a loss for what to do next, he’d just think about what Artoria would do. Closing his eyes, it was easy to imagine his sister’s voice.

_‘If you’re out of clues, it’s always worth revisiting the evidence.’_

He’d head back to the Police Station, to look over what they had found and hopefully check the autopsy report.

\--

Giving a curt nod to Agravain as he walked in, Arthur knew the way to the crime lab like the back of his hand. Down the hall, to the left, up the stairs and he’d be in the entire wing dedicated to it.

On his way, he could see a man with white hair, tied back looking as grave as a judge. He recognized him instantly-- Marisbury Animusphere, father of the deceased. He was talking with a man with bright red hair, green eyes and a slightly dirty lab coat. He quickly rounded a corner to listen to their conversation, but mostly, all he could hear was the man in the lab coat’s voice.

“The autopsy report has some… issues…”

Arthur leaned a bit closer. What issues?

“But we’re relatively certain of the cause of death, and it’s in line with the trauma of falling from a great height.”

Damn it.

“There’s just some…”

Finally, he could hear the other man raise his voice.

“I want an airtight case against Gilgamesh. If you need to conduct another autopsy, do it.”

The redhead nodded, taking his task seriously. As Animusphere passed Arthur, he gave him one look, scowled, and left.

“Are you the coroner?” Arthur asked the redheaded man, wanting to get to him before he disappeared back downstairs.

“Ah, yes. Romani Archaman.” He held out his hand for Arthur to shake, which he did. “Are you…?”

“Private investigator, Arthur Pendragon.” For some reason, that title put Romani on edge.

“I see. Are you here for evidence? Security is tight right now, and I’m incredibly busy with the new case--”

“Could I have Olga Marie’s autopsy report? I have clearance on this case, ask Lancelot du Lac.”

“I will have to ask him, of course. Formalities and I have no idea if you’re who you claim to be or a reporter for the Tribune.” Apparently, Romani wasn’t familiar with his work, but Arthur could appreciate the extra caution. “Give me a few hours and I should have a properly updated autopsy report for you.”

Arthur nodded.

As Romani passed him in the hallway, Arthur noticed the stains on his lab coat were a rusty color. Not unexpected, but unusual. Did Animusphere want the autopsy report for his lawyers so quickly that he couldn’t even change?

Heading back up to the crime lab, Arthur had one thing in mind: gather whatever he could before the autopsy report linked it all together… and then, if he got a clear vision of what happened, it might be time to visit Ozymandias.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing more jarring than photoshopping an autopsy report with an anime character on it.

It would be a while before the autopsy report was ready if the sour look on Romani’s face was any indication. Arthur decided to get comfortable in the crime lab in the meantime, and by comfortable, one could suppose he meant ‘in everyone’s business’. He looked toward one of the men working on the evidence, an old friend, Tristan. Taking a seat next to him, he realized the things currently being scrutinized were few and far between. There was blood taken from the scene, a rock, and Tristan was looking at something that looked a little bit like fishing wire, turning it over with a set of medical-grade tweezers. Not wanting to bother him, yet still needing information, Arthur leaned in only slightly.

“Is this all the evidence you’ve collected?”

“Footprints are being analyzed but I doubt it’ll go anywhere-- when the crime scene is the murder weapon, there doesn’t tend to be much to go off of but blood,” Tristan responded exhaustedly. “Don’t interfere with the other workers, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“What’s this?”

“It seems to be Norwich fishing line, one of their stronger models. I doubt this has much to do with the case, though-- Montrose beach is a popular fishing spot and there were a few different brands of fishing line found at the scene. It could have come from anywhere, anyone, but we’ve been told to look at even bottlecaps found at the scene of the crime. Marisbury Animusphere sponsors this department personally, so--”

“Why would he want to know with a case where the criminal already confessed?”

“He wants to make sure there’s nothing Gilgamesh can wiggle out of a sentence with. The man is more furious than distraught, I’m afraid… perhaps a reaction to grief?”

“I see… do you know a lot about Animusphere?”

“I talk to him now and then.”

“Besides… Gilgamesh’s father, does he have any enemies?”

Tristan paused for a moment to think about the question. “There’s a lot of people from the city’s underbelly that don’t like him. He receives threats from the mob fairly often, due to his policies and how hard he wants us to crack down on them. We send cars to his house every now and then for stakeouts.”

“Could Gilgamesh have been framed?”

“Why would he confess, then?” Tristan looked at him, curiously.

“... I don’t know. Blackmail, maybe? Something Gil would do prison time for to keep under wraps?”

“No matter how you cut it, there were only two people there, though, and Olga certainly didn’t kill herself. She was a strong-willed young woman who wanted to support her father.”

“... suicide…” Arthur repeated that to himself, wondering if that  _ was _ a possibility. It was certainly out there, and there was no known motive for it… he’d have to put that in the pile to pursue if things got really desperate.

“Do you have any theories, Arthur? A mind like yours must run a mile a minute,” Tristan yawned as if the very concept of that tired him out. Arthur crossed his arms leaning back into the hard wooden chair he’d plopped himself in and wondered if theories, just yet, were a very good idea.

“I have a picture in mind, but it’s not painted yet.”

“Ever the artist, are we?” Tristan wore a wry smile. “Elucidate.”

“Gilgamesh is certainly protecting someone. It’s possible he was blackmailed by someone involved with either fathers’ campaign or the mob into killing Animusphere’s daughter. If nothing else, a pity vote would win him the election and put his own father out of the running by far. There’s no way Gilgamesh doesn’t have dirt, it’s just… he’s never been a secretive person, either. Whatever sordid past he has, it must be worse than just tangoing with the mafia.”

“What about evidence that proves he’s not the killer?” Tristan asked. “That is what you’re here for.”

“... it could have been a trap. Someone other than Gilgamesh threw her off the ledge. The witnesses have only said they saw her pushing him, not the other way around. It’s the perfect way to frame someone. Someone would have had to have been privy to their meeting place and time. Send a message to Marisbury Animusphere, and get another politician out of the running entirely. The cliff has its fair share of trees, too, someone could have thrown her off and hidden.”

“And again,” Tristan slipped on his gloves again. “Why would Gilgamesh cover for the person who framed him?”

“... I still don’t know. Maybe it’s someone he cares about.”

Tristan laughed, even if Arthur didn’t appreciate it. “Doubt he cares about anyone but himself, and even then, that’s quite a betrayal to frame him. Nobody in the world loves someone that much.”

Arthur chose to say nothing.

“Anyway, I have to get back to work. Why not… go to the Coroner’s morgue? You might get something interesting from examining the body.”

“I did last night… doubt I’d get anything from seeing the poor girl like that.”

“Just a suggestion.”

It was a suggestion that Arthur would ponder on as he looked over the other tables filled with evidence. Tristan wasn’t lying, they were filled with trinkets that weren’t out of place at a beach, but nothing unusual stood out. His intuition was telling him nothing. The morgue… a place Arthur resented ever setting foot in. The last coroner, old man Hassan, was never on good terms with him and had passed away recently. Romani must have been recently instated before an official election could take place. Too many bad memories plagued that place, but fortunately, the disgust had inscribed the location there in his mind.

He stopped by Lancelot’s office only for a letter of authorization before leaving the police station. Part of him ached to see Gilgamesh again but knew the other’s subtle tactics well. He’d extract every bit of knowledge he could from Arthur and then either rebuke them or file them away to make his case stronger. There used to be no secrets between them, so the temptation to tell the truth would be almost too strong to resist. Besides, he wasn’t sure how much viciousness, fake or not, he could take from the imprisoned man.

The Cook County Medical Examiner’s office was just several blocks to the east of the police station. Arthur pulled up his stolen umbrella and made the brisk walk through muddy puddles and across wet concrete to the imposing building. There was an air of dread that surrounded it, like nobody wanted to be brought in and everyone regretted it after leaving… typical of any morgue.

There was no stench when walking into the main room, but there was the smell of over-sanitization, a clean and sickly smell that overcompensated for the building’s reputation. The woman working at the front desk had chestnut brown hair and a kind smile, completely unbefitting of her work station, but some people found fascination with the dead and made it their comfort zone, not that Arthur could ever understand them.

“Arthur… Arthur Pendragon, is that you?” She remembered him, after all. He’d been in and out of the morgue before plenty of times back when the previous coroner still worked here. Quietly shaking her hand, he passed her the letter of authorization and she checked it dutifully.

“One minute,” She held up her finger before pulling the phone to her ear. Arthur looked around the waiting room at the grim people who no doubt had terrible business to deal with here, glad he wasn’t one of the people in the chairs. The secretary, Ms. Da Vinci, was having a quiet conversation with the coroner on the phone, trying to grant Arthur access.

“You’re all clear,” She said after finally hanging up the phone. “I know Lancelot’s signature from a mile away, which isn’t necessarily a good thing…” She had a point, the chief’s signature was ridiculously detailed and a bit excessive. “Be sure to wear gloves if you plan on touching the body.”

“I will.”

With that, Arthur pushed past the double doors and down a hall of literal death.

Trying not to remember the most prominent incident of being here, he made his way towards the main examination room, past body storage, and a few offices, winding down the hallway as the smell of the dead got stronger and stronger. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he covered his mouth and opened the door to where Romani was and the late Olga Marie was being autopsied-- yet again.

He flinched at the sight that greeted him.

Olga laid out on the table, eyes closed and chest cavity recently sewn shut again. Romani was examining her broken neck and he could see the incision around her scalp. It was common with head injuries to examine the brain, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor girl, being picked apart for clues to her untimely demise. Hopefully, Romani was either done with that part or would get started once he left.

“Mr. Archaman.”

“Ah, Arthur,” Romani barely looked up from her neck. “Here for the updated Autopsy report? It’s nearly complete.”

Someone, at the other end of the room, had been typewriting Romani’s notes for him as he detailed what was going on. It was easier than just writing down things between disposable gloves. Plus, he needed this autopsy report to be much more official than the last.

“Is there anything you can tell me about the body?” Arthur cut to the chase, not wanting to waste even a moment of time.

“Well-- only a few interesting things since my last dissection,” With a closer look, Arthur could see he’d made an incision in the neck to more closely observe the fracture that killed her. “What do you want to know?”

“Is there any doubt about the cause of death?”

“Actually…” Romani was still looking at the fracture, pressing it delicately with his finger. “There are some things that don’t add up.”

Arthur tried to keep any surprise out of his voice. “Such as?”

“The neck is fractured in two places. I honestly expected only one due to the height she fell from, but it’s possible that she hit it twice on the way down. Still, the cliff wasn’t that steep. The cranial damage, which is the far more lethal wound, fractured the skull in several places and took off some skin. It doesn’t quite add up, it’s unusual.”

“Unusual how?”

“It’s still possible for her to have hit her head, but it’s a little more severe than other cases I’ve examined. Almost like something hit her  _ after _ she landed. The damage is to the side of her skull, at the wrong angle to be congruent with the neck-snapping. Again, it’s entirely possible that as she fell, she knocked a rock loose and it hit her head when she landed. That would tie this up in a neat package, honestly, so that’s my best guess.”

Arthur took it in and remembered one thing different at the crime scene. The rock by her head, which he’d previously assumed was far too heavy to lift. He’d have to test it, see if he could lift it, and if someone did-- then…

Someone could have been at the base of the cliff and dealt the killing blow. But who? And why? “The neck is fractured in two places?”

“Yes. Definitely from impact.”

“I see… is it possible she could have survived?” Arthur asked tentatively.

“With one of the fractures, yes, actually-- this one right here is less severe... “ He moved his hand to show Arthur through the gore of her neck. “And often ends in paralysis if the right medical attention is administered, but there’s no way to tell if this injury came before or after the crushing blow. Hassan could have told you, probably, but… I’m relatively new compared to him. He was a legend. I studied under him, you know.”

With a window of doubt, Arthur finally felt free enough to share a theory. “Is it possible… she was pushed off the cliff, broke her neck, and then someone else killed her at the bottom of the cliff?”

“It’s possible, sure. The evidence doesn’t exclude that theory, it’s just highly _ unlikely _ . Who on Earth would have a reason for doing that?”

“Someone who wanted to frame Gilgamesh, maybe.”

“Look…” Romani gave him a kind if doubtful look. “I don’t know your connection to the perpetrator, but this still looks pretty awful for him. I doubt my finalized autopsy report could convince any judge or jury that your theory is correct.”

“He’s… a friend, and this doesn’t add up for his M.O.”

“Accidents happen. Anyone could react violently when shoved--”

“Not him. Not with a dame.”

Romani sighed. “If you can wait for an extra copy of the autopsy report to be completed by my assistant, you’re welcome to take one with you.”

“Thank you. I’ll need a detailed version of it.”

Arthur found himself in the waiting room he had just earlier imagined himself avoiding. The carpet was the same as last time, along with the seats and pinstripe wallpaper. Gossip rags sat in dishevelment on the side table Arthur was seated next to. A man, smoking a cigarette, sat two seats away from him. It felt like eons of trying to fight off bad memories before the secretary that had helped Romani in the medical examination room gave him a copy of the autopsy report.

Arthur flipped it open.

  
  


Verifying everything sounded good, he shook their hand, thanked them, and decided it was time to pay Ozymandias, the underground “King of Kings”, a visit.

The dive bar he used as a front was deep downtown, so he had a long walk ahead of him. It was an hour on foot, but at least it brought Arthur closer to home so that when he left, he could finally get some shut-eye.

Two grunts stood outside, looked at Arthur, then opened the double doors for him. The velvety interior of aqua and gold was a sight to behold. A piano player was busily playing a magnificent jazz tune along with the rest of the band-- Arthur only setting him apart because he recognized him by the mole on his cheek. With the autopsy report in hand, he whispered to someone at the bar that he needed to see Ozymandias.

Through a chain of people whispering the request to one another, he was finally granted access to the back room.

“It’s been a while, Arthur.”

Ozymandias, in his golden-striped suit and black fur-lined jacket, looked at Arthur appraisingly.

“You would only dare come to visit me if you had something interesting to share. Speak.”

“I have two leads. One is from the autopsy report I just got.” He passed it to Ozymandias to leaf through. “The second is Gilgamesh’s sibling.”

“Go on, tell me the tale of Gilgamesh’s innocence.”

Arthur took a deep breath, retelling him what Romani had laid out bare on the autopsy table and in words. He told him of the mysterious Adel and asked who they could possibly be. Ozymandias said nothing for a moment-- curious to read every last detail in the autopsy report, before slamming it on the table and leaning back. At first, it was difficult to tell if he was satisfied with Arthur’s work, but then, a grin cracked across his face.

“You do good work. If only Gilgamesh would use that defense in court.”

“It’s all we have to go on. We need to find out who the  **third** person at the scene was.”

“Do you suspect it’s the sibling?”

“I suspect it’s someone Gilgamesh cares about, and we know very precious few people like that in the world-- and again, Enkidu was and is out of town. The sibling at least must be very worried about their brother.”

“Have you found out anything about the sibling?”

“It might be a sister. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Well…” Ozymandias gave a sigh. “You pulled your strings, so it’s only fair that I pull mine.”

Ozymandias waved over one of his goons, whispering something to them as Arthur watched. When he was finally done, Ozymandias gave Arthur a smug grin that told him he had fulfilled his end of the bargain. “We’ll start interrogating Gil’s closer contacts for the location of the sibling, though I am hurt he never shared them with me…”

“You and me both.”

“Come, Arthur. Have a drink at my bar. You look positively like shit.”

Arthur patted his pocket. “On the house?”

Ozymandias’ laugh was sharp and cutting. “You’re hilarious! Do I look ungenerous to you? Ungrateful for the work you’ve put in? Never. Order what you like.”

Heading back into the bar, Arthur glanced around before placing an order for a whiskey sour. He thought Ozymandias would be joining him for the drink, but the kingpin didn’t leave his quarters. Once upon a time, he and Ozymandias were rivals of a sort, and even now, Arthur couldn’t quite forgive himself for doing dealings with the mob when he used to be an upstanding officer. As obsessed with protecting people as he was, he knew this made him the P.I. equivalent of a crooked cop, best intentions be damned.

As night fell, the piano player Arthur had recognized took a seat next to him.

“Arthur Pendragon, in the flesh…” Diarmuid ua Duibhne said quietly, ordering a drink for himself. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long, Dia. Sorry I never found my way into coming here.”

“You’re a Private Eye. It’s understandable you’d want to avoid this place.”

Arthur didn’t respond to him, thinking there were other things that made him want to avoid making eye contact with Ozymandias. Dia was an old friend, not really one of his, but Artoria’s. They were close. Therefore, this kind of stilted interaction where one bereaved person tried to connect to another through a lost connection was expected. It was Artoria’s involvement with this place that…

Well, Diarmuid felt guilty for it, and Arthur couldn’t ask him to feel anything more.

“I think I’ll head home and get some sleep,” Arthur said, trying to will his drink out of existence so he had an excuse-- and made his desire a reality by knocking it back.

“You look really bad-- er, like you haven’t slept…” Diarmuid corrected himself quickly. “I just… hope you get some rest tonight.”

“Yeah. See you.”

The rain had finally stopped, and Arthur made his way back to his crummy little apartment and wondered what a reset of the clock would bring him the next day. He couldn’t count on Ozymandias’ intel being so fast, but he wanted to work faster than Animusphere’s lawyers. As he fought with his keys to unlock his door, there were his cats again, having feasted like kings throughout the day and demanding more.

He had nearly an empty belly, having nothing but the whiskey and coffee throughout the day, but tiredness won over hunger. Arthur’s bed was put to shame by the one in Gilgamesh’s apartment, with its creaky springs and thin blankets, but he peeled off his clothing and pondered one last drink before bed.

As he held the glass in his hand, sitting on the edge of his bed, occasionally taking a sip, he sorted through the information he’d been given in his head. He followed all the leads he had, and now it was just a waiting game.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t dream of any of it tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

_ It happened as all dreams do, with the belief that everything surrounding him was very real. _

_ It could have been an inversion of the colors of Ozymandias’ lounge, bright crimson with polished chrome, and despite its differences, Arthur wholly accepted that all of the jail cells appeared _ this  _ lavish. He was in the cell next to Gil’s. Apparently, Arthur had been arrested for sins that he’d worn on his heart, now laid bare before the entire world. In spite of his current position, Gilgamesh was kind enough not to mention them. Instead, he poured the two of them glasses of champagne and passed one flute through the bar. _

_ “What sentence do they think they’ll give you?” _

_ “I don’t know,” Arthur said, not drinking while Gilgamesh quietly sipped at his own flute. “It feels like it’ll be for everything.” _

_ “Really? I think they’ll go easy on you.” _

_ “They shouldn’t.” _

_ “Arthur, ever so hard on yourself. Hmph,” This strange, dream-Gil laughed as he crossed one knee over the other, sitting on the velvety slab that was supposed to be his bed. “When will you learn it was never your fault?” _

_ “... with the right evidence, everyone would agree it was.” _

_ “Tsk tsk. This is why we drifted apart. You let it break you, piece by piece, and now you’re clinging to me like the glue to hold it all together. You think by saving me, you’ll have saved Artoria.” _

_ “...” _

_ “So? What sentence.” _

_ “Death,” Arthur responded, finally tipping the champagne flute against his lips, noticing how the flavor struggled to make it to his tongue. “I hope death.” _

_ “Dramatic. I’ll be out in ten years.” _

_ “You’ll be behind bars forever and you know it.” _

_ Gilgamesh looked at him, and Arthur’s world distorted for a moment, where he was now sitting in the defense’s chair as the judge read his crimes. It seemed to go on for an eternity, before the judge threw out his case and just said  _ live with yourself  _ and oh god, he could see a smiling face in the distance, those sharp grey-blue eyes, and nothing, not a single thing prepared him for the onslaught of changing scenes and images fluttering through his mind, one moment he was in Gilgamesh’s bed, the other half of it covered in a bloodstain shaped like a man, and then he was back in Britain, his sister just a child while he was still a man, and even though he couldn’t quite see her face he could hear her voice just as he’d heard it when they were young. _

_ “What do I grow up to be?” _

_ “A memory,” Arthur choked out, and _ then he woke up.

“Shit.” Dragging his hands down his face, the light just after dawn poured in through his window. Arthur threw off his blankets and felt cold sweat cover him. So much for sleeping in and making up for the rest he’d lost. Padding over to his bathroom, he switched on the flickering lights as he stared at himself in the mirror.

He looked awful. Even his little cowlick couldn’t hold itself up like this. He ran a hot bath and washed the sleep from his eyes in the sink, shaving the semi-golden shadow from his chin and neck.

His cats pawed at the door and Arthur would have to ignore them for the next half hour as he scrubbed himself clean of yesterday, eventually finding solace in sinking into the bathwater as it turned a murky, milky color from the soap. He needed to figure out what was his next plan, even if everything advised him to wait for the time being. For now, just letting heat seep into his bones as he forgot the dream that woke up was enough.

He dressed nicely today, presuming he would do more canvassing and that first impressions made everything. He had a blue pinstripe suit and powder-blue tie, a crisp, clean white shirt, and a snap-brim to complete the look.

Finishing up his chores, he gave Lucy and Oregano some soft scritches behind the ears as he checked over his notes in the well-clawed sofa sitting in his living room. He felt like he was just about to get somewhere when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Arthur, it’s me.” Lancelot’s voice on the other line was clear as day.

“Any updates?”

“It’s actually my day off,” His voice sounded for lack of a better word, awkward. “Or at least, I have several hours before coming in. Why don’t you come to my place? I doubt you’ve gotten any real rest.”

Arthur wanted to mention he was waiting to be contacted, but… Ozymandias probably knew he’d be out of the house anyway, and wouldn’t try calling. Besides, several hours wasn’t that bad, and there was no way Adel’s dirt would be dug up by then.

“Sure. We can review the case together.”

“... sounds good,” Lancelot sounded like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. “Take care.”

Arthur pulled on his trenchcoat and locked the door on the way out.

\--

Lancelot lived in a roomy home in the suburbs, a quick metra ride away from the city, but not too far.

These invites came every now and then, always with the best of intentions. Sometimes, Arthur would pop in while Lancelot’s son or daughter was home. Today was no such day. The house was desolate, in its dark interior and exterior. Lancelot welcomed him inside, and he couldn’t help but notice how lonely it was, stepping over the threshold. The brick fireplace roared, making it warm, but not cozy-- he could tell there was a lot of house to heat, after all. He couldn’t imagine what it felt like for Lancelot, who had raised a family here, for it to suddenly be so empty.

Arthur shrugged his coat off his shoulder and hung it up by the door, giving Lancelot a firm handshake. The other man glanced over at him, smiling slightly.

“You’re all dressed up. Planning on doing more research today?”

“A bit. It depends on how many more leads I have.”

The two started speaking of the case, Arthur quietly leaving out what he’d learned from Ozymandias and focusing solely on Olga Marie’s autopsy report. It hurt to be dishonest to such a close friend, but he couldn’t tell him that man was involved whether Arthur liked it or not. As Lancelot listened to his theory, that someone crushed Olga to death at the foot of the cliff, he raised a hand to stop Arthur.

“But she would still need to be pushed.”

“Not necessarily. What if we’re thinking of it the wrong way? What if she was pulled off that cliff?”

“... Do you seriously think someone lassoed her and pulled her down? Arthur, that’s… I know you want Gil to be innocent, but I think we should think like he’s still culpable in some way. He’s not denying that he pushed her.”

“He’s lying.”

Lancelot looked tired, disgruntled with how firmly Arthur spoke. “So what do you propose happened? It’s a lot to make up for, after all.”

“It could have been a trap or an accident, then someone took advantage of that to kill her and frame Gil.”

“What could have been used to make a trap, then? Something would have been left behind, after all.”

Arthur thought for a moment, before opening his mouth to speak. “Lancelot, you’ve worked so many cases--”

“-- Yes.”

“How often is fishing wire used in cases?”

“Not this…” Lancelot furrowed his brows. “I know we found several fishing lines at the scene of the crime, but--”

“Just-- just hear me out. She was pulled or she triggered a trap, a simple one. She was off the cliff before Gilgamesh could even catch her. The person below realized they hadn’t killed her, so they finished the job. Maybe Gilgamesh didn’t see the perpetrator or it was someone he wanted to protect.”

“This still bears the question of who Gilgamesh likes so much that he’d do that for them. Surely you’re not volunteering yourself? He talks about you a lot at the station, you know. If there was someone he wanted to protect, have you ever considered it might be you-- by trying to make sure you stay uninvolved in the case?”

“He’s out of luck, in that case. The motive is still… hazy. He had no good reason to upset his father’s chances in the election. What’s he maintaining his motive is?”

“Heat of the moment anger pushed her off, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t make any sense for him… he’s too smart, and I think he’s the type to be more amused at someone trying to get his goat than actually letting them get to him.”

“I agree it’s weird, but-- to go this far? Arthur, who do you think it is he’d protect?”

“Until I meet them, I’ll have no idea.”

“Then we’re getting nowhere,” Lancelot said firmly, though he placed a hand on Arthur’s knee and gently patted it. “Why don’t you take a break for once? It’s my case and I don’t want you to get overwhelmed by doing literally all of the work… or jumping to wrong conclusions just because you want him to be innocent.”

Arthur so badly wanted to say something about the sibling, but bringing Lancelot up to speed on that might be more trouble than it’s worth-- wait… he’d asked Lancelot to look into them, hadn’t he?

“Did the NYPD ever get back to you?” Arthur seemingly ignored the bit about the break.

“Ah… I’ve been back and forth with calls with them trying to dig up Gilgamesh’s family-- his adoptive father has no comment on the situation and is trying to get the press to settle down, but we did track down who Adel is. She’s his younger half-sister, by his mother.”

“Is there any word where she is right now? She’s… a crucial part of this case.”

“Is she?” Lancelot raised an eyebrow.

“I just-- I have to talk to her, just once. Is she in town?”

“She is. But--”

“... but?”

“We have no idea where. She and their father parted ways after she turned eighteen this year, he doesn’t keep tabs on her. Bad blood.”

Arthur had at least confirmed that the mysterious Adel was a sister, and if that was the case, she matched the description Kintoki and Raikou had given him, as vague as it was. A blonde girl in her teens.

“Lancelot, once we’re done here, can you drive me up to Montrose beach? I have one last investigation I need to do there.”

“... sure.” Lancelot’s intentions were to get Arthur to relax, but it seemed like that was a bygone dream. He at least made sure he had a warm mug of coffee before the two of them set out.

\--

The crime scene was as Arthur remembered it, and the police officers by the scene quickly escorted them in.

Heading down the beaten path to the bottom of the cliff, Arthur ducked under the yellow tape and knelt by where Olga Marie had landed. The stone buried in the sand was immense, and as Arthur knelt down to pick it up, he had more than a struggle in lifting it. In fact, he had left deep imprints in the sand where the force of lifting had pushed him down. Now that it was in his hands, he quickly tested it by dropping it.

“That’s… more than enough to fracture someone’s skull,” He panted. “But--”

“Does that limit who would be strong enough to lift that?”

“I was just thinking that…”

Arthur was seemingly at a loss when he realized the stone, as he’d dropped it, had flipped on its side. Apparently, being in slightly wet sand did nothing to remove some of the rust-colored stains on it.

“... Get someone from the crime lab over here.”

Lancelot quickly made the call over the radio, and soon enough, someone arrived with luminol. It didn’t take much to ascertain it was definitely blood.

“If both sides of the stone have blood on it, then that means this was definitely lifted the night of the crime!”

“-- you might have a case, sure, but you’re going to have to do more than build circumstantial evidence for the rest of it, Arthur. You’re going to have to find out who was here the night of the 31st. Really.”

Arthur had a case going now, and someone on his side. If Olga Marie’s real cause of death was obscured, as he guessed it might have been, then there was someone who had delivered the killing blow, and possibly had prepared for it by setting a trap at the top of the cliff. Still… he would get nowhere without talking to the only true known witness of the crime; Gilgamesh himself.

He steeled himself for the barbs that were bound to be traded and got in Lancelot’s car to head for the station.

\--

_ The year was 1941. _

_ Arthur was younger, fresher faced. A cop. It would be several years before he established his own agency, but for now, he was enjoying his time on the force. People called him a goody-two-shoes, too nice and forgiving to those in lesser circumstances, but a stickler for the law with those who could afford the fines. He wasn’t the office darling, but he did have his fans. His detective-ranked partner approved of him wholeheartedly. _

_ Even when off-duty, sitting at a bar and nursing a well-earned drink, he never seemed to keep his nose out of trouble. At that particular bar, Arthur caught the gaze of another blond man, only his eyes were such a dark copper they might as well have been crimson. When Arthur turned to look at him, the man raised a glass in his direction and motioned for him to come over. Both of them were alone at the bar that night. _

_ Arthur sat across from him in the roomy booth, glad to spend the night’s company with someone else. He had no idea about the reputation the other man carried. _

_ At first, Gilgamesh had invited him over just to play with him, seeing the badge and marking him as a chew toy for the night, but Arthur had proven quite interesting. He didn’t shy away from telling Gilgamesh exactly what he thought, and there was a way the man just looked at him that told Gil exactly what he wanted to know. _

_ “You’re an outsider, like me,” Gil spoke. Arthur had no idea what he meant. _

_ “I think I do a pretty good job of fitting in, honestly.” _

_ “Heh. Tell me, Arthur, where’s your wife?” _

_ “I’m not married.” _

_ “That’s unusual… already I can tell, you’re the kind of person to fall in love young and get married young. What’s kept you from trying?” _

_ Arthur interrupted himself with a drink, trying to pick his words carefully. “I didn’t want it to get in the way of my career, that’s all.” _

_ “Hm,” Gilgamesh leaned back against the red-lined booth, growing more and more curious with the mouse he’d caught. “Would you quit, though? If you found someone you loved. An officer’s life is constantly on the line. I wouldn’t want to be the woman on the other line of the phone, listening to how my husband got shot.” _

_ “I’ve considered other jobs, but… I want to protect people.” _

_ This earned Gilgamesh’s laughter, even if Arthur thought it was the furthest thing from funny. “Then why aren’t you off in the war?” _

_ “They wouldn’t let me in.” _

_ “What for?” _

_ Arthur said nothing, seeming to confirm Gilgamesh’s suspicions about him. There was something so intimate about the way Gil prodded at his mind, drawing out these answers and secrets and things Arthur never wanted to mention. Arthur was all too happy to lay it bare despite his instincts telling him to be wary of the man with such welcoming eyes. Gilgamesh challenged him on what it meant to be an officer, tried to pick apart his ideals, yet still stayed the same gracious companion for the evening. It was like he was lockpicking Arthur’s mind for all of his secrets. _

_ There was one, though, he would have to drag out by force. _

_ When 3 AM came around, Arthur realized that he should get going. It was his day off tomorrow, and he promised he’d help his sister out. As they set foot outside of the bar, Gilgamesh took a quick look around them, before grabbing Arthur’s collar and kissing him. _

_ It wasn’t a kiss of passion, or love, or anything like that. He was testing his theory, and as Arthur relaxed against him and kissed back, he warmly leaned into it. Arthur slowly realized that there was someone in Chicago who could keep his secret. _

_ “Same time tomorrow night, Arthur Pendragon?” _

_ All the other man could do was nod numbly. “Sure-- I-- yeah, sure.” _

_ “See you soon.” _

_ That evening had been the start of Arthur’s only love story. _

\--

So now that he was face to face with Gilgamesh in the little room used for interrogations, he wondered what would be best to start with. ‘I know about Adel’? No, too much and presumes too much. He decided to lead with something a little more subtle.

“I know you weren’t alone on the night of the 31st.”

Gilgamesh bristled slightly but otherwise remained calm. “Obviously not. I was with Olga, of course. The woman I murdered, try to keep up.”

“No, there was a third person. Gil, I saw the autopsy report and I found the stone at the base of the cliff. It was covered in blood, both sides. Someone crushed her to death, didn’t they?”

Gil wisely said nothing. He was so used to being the one to drag secrets out of Arthur that the change in their positions felt unnatural. This wouldn’t mean he’d speak easily.

“Who’s to say? It was dark that night. If someone finished her off, it doesn’t change the fact that I pushed her.”

“There was fishing line found at the scene of the crime.”

“ _ It’s a fishing spot.  _ Really, Arthur… have you gotten rusty? Or is that mind of yours in the gutter thinking about what I’ll do for you if you exonerate me.”

“It’s  _ nothing  _ like that,” Arthur said firmly. “I’m not here to…”

“Then what are you here for, Arthur?”

“The truth,” Arthur spoke quietly. “that’s all.”

Gilgamesh, looking ever out of place without the gold hanging from his ears and neck, in a jumpsuit that the common criminal wore, still looked so intimidating even when handcuffed. He knew Arthur, he knew his heart was guiding him and he wouldn’t accept anything from Gil for figuring it out-- that’s what made him so dangerous. That’s what made him so close to finding the truth of the situation. Arthur had made excellent guesses, he knew that, but for Gil…

“Ha, haha! So spin me the yarn of what really happened last night, in that pitiful mongrel brain of yours. Let’s see if I find it convincing!”

“Well… I think you were called to meet Olga Marie at 10:45. Then, you had a heated argument, and she pushed you. Then, someone pulled her off the cliff, using fishing wire around her ankle, most likely; it’s the only method that would seem invisible to her. She cracked her neck on the way down, but she was still alive. Someone at the bottom of the cliff then picked up a heavy stone and bashed her head in, killing her for good. And what I want to know is…” Arthur leaned in. “Why you’re protecting them.”

Gilgamesh snarled and said something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“You wouldn’t  _ understand _ , Pendragon,” Gilgamesh paused. “Or maybe you’d understand a little too well. I’m going to give you nothing. Would you like to talk about the weather? Or how the food they tried to give me here looked less appetizing than rat poison? Or maybe you want to hear me say those three little words you’ve been craving for the past two years. Hm?”

Arthur shook his head. “I got what I wanted from you already.”

“Oh?”

“You and I now both know there was a third person. I just wanted to confirm by your reaction.”

“Tch…” Gilgamesh crossed his arms, looking to the side. “You are  _ consistently  _ in my way, no matter what you do. Very well then, I’ll issue a challenge. Prove it. Find the third person, do you have a guess on who they might be? Hm? A mob member trying to frame me? A--”

“It’s Adel, isn’t it?”

Arthur could tell by looking at him that Gilgamesh’s blood had run cold. Arthur was just working on a hunch, wondering what reaction he’d get. Gilgamesh would either let it roll off his back like water off a duck’s and correct him, or Arthur would hit the nail on the head.

“Don’t you dare… involve her in this.”

“She’s already involved, isn’t she?”

Gilgamesh stood up. “We’re done here. Arthur… sometimes I truly hate you.”

“Where is she, Gilgamesh?”

The man in chains said nothing, and though he told the police officer by him to let him out, he would do no such thing. Arthur still wasn’t done yet and Gilgamesh, whether he hated it or not, had no control here.

“You would understand, better than anyone,” Gilgamesh snapped. “What you’d do to protect someone who has no business getting involved in your lifestyle.”

“Are you admitting it, then?”

“I killed Olga Marie. There was no third person. Put that on my record.”

Finally, Arthur let him go. His words had cut him deeply, but he’d gotten what he wanted. The only thing was… Gilgamesh would hate him for an eternity and more for pinning it on someone else he cared about. Arthur would have to think of it from a different angle. He would have to consider all the options in front of him.

If not Adel… then who?

\--

It was an exhausting day. Arthur made his way back to his flat and heard the phone ringing even from down the hall. It must have been ringing for quite a while because his neighbors gave him flack for it when he got upstairs. Quickly heading inside, he closed the door behind him and picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Arthur, I have some good news and bad news.” Ozymandias was on the other line.

“Good news first, please.”

“I found his sister.”

Arthur was about to sigh with relief when he remembered that this was supposed to be followed quickly by bad news. “And…?”

“She’s in hiding. I only got wind of her by hearing she was at a play the other day. I had one of my men follow her and she’s in a ritzy apartment downtown. Of course…” Ozymandias sounded grim. “If she knows who you are, she’ll never speak to you, I’m sure. You should get a disguise of some kind, or at least think up an excuse to see her.”

“Disguises were never my forte. As long as I find her, I’m sure I’ll be able to question her fairly.”

“Be careful not to blow it, Arthur. You’re not the intimidating type, you won’t be able to draw anything out of her by being imposing.”

“If you send a car, I can be over there right away. We don’t know if she plans on skipping town, either, so it’s best to be fast.”

“Too poor to afford a taxi?”

“At the moment? Unfortunately.”

“Not to worry. I’ll send someone. I hope to hear from you soon... I expect good things.”

That unspoken promise Arthur was bound to. Luckily, he had no intention of breaking it.

\--

The building was brand new, made of red brick and completed with a fenced-in garden in the middle of the city. Rent had to be atrocious, just by looking at the old-fashioned, gratuitous design. He could tell anyone who lived here came from money-- big money. On a little sheet of paper was the girl’s apartment number. He just… hoped that he had a good enough excuse to be here. That she’d led him in. That they could talk.

As he knocked on the door, there was a long pause. It was as if the person on the other side was debating whether or not to open it.

And then, she did.

She was almost exactly as Raikou had described her-- fair hair, almost white. Surprisingly, she didn’t share the same striking eye color as her brother, but they were blue, almost violet, like Elizabeth Taylor’s. Other than that, she was petite, dressed in a modest red dress.

“Hello, are you Adel? I’m Arthur Pendragon, and--”

“I know who you are, and I’m sure I know why you’re here.”

She said it firmly and with a lot of confidence. That didn’t surprise Arthur. What did surprise him was what she said next.

“Come in. We have much to discuss.”


	5. Chapter 5

Light streamed in through the cream-colored curtains as Arthur was escorted into the room. Adel apparently lived a lavish lifestyle, and he wondered if this was all Gilgamesh’s doing. Did he really adore his sibling so much, and if he did, why did he never mention her to him? He guessed he could understand, the more people who knew about them, the more they could be used against you. If Arthur had ever learned her whereabouts and an enemy caught word of this, well-- he’d never say a thing, because little sisters are to be protected. Arthur knew that better than anyone, but he appreciated the precautionary lengths Gilgamesh had gone to.

There was a maid setting out tea on the lace doily-covered coffee table. As Adel thanked them for their time, she offered for Arthur to drink, and when he refused gently, she poured her own cup and sat back.

“You want to solve the mystery as to why my brother killed Olga Marie, don’t you?”

“You’ve already heard about it--”

“I was there.”

Arthur was shocked at her blatant admission, he thought she would stammer and stutter along bringing out the truth, but even more so, she was even more frank and honest.

“I don’t know what the press is saying, but… he never pushed her. I’m the one who did it all.”

“...”

“...”

“... I’m sorry?”

“I’m confessing to the crime. Olga Marie tumbled off a cliff and I crushed her head once she reached the bottom. Surely, this is what you want to hear, yes? Wipe that look off your face, I can tell you everything.”

Arthur found himself in a dangerous situation, despite his theory.

By turning in Adel, he was sure to earn Gilgamesh’s hatred basically forever, but he could live with that-- if he wasn’t the type to do exactly the same for his own departed sibling. As dawning realization crashed down on him, he realized that Gilgamesh trying to protect her was probably the most selfless thing he’d ever done… but he wasn’t ready to call the police just yet. In fact, far from it.

“Tell me everything, exactly how it happened.”

“Right. I accompanied my brother on a walk uptown. He said he had something he needed to take care of. I agreed. I decided to give them some privacy by walking down the steps of the cliff to take in the sight of the lake at night. That’s when she fell.”

She was remarkably composed, throughout all of it, sipping her tea like a proper young woman. “I saw that she had broken her neck, and was close to death, so I did her in. I thought that by taking the murder out of my brother’s hands, I’d be accused and sent to prison in his place. I didn’t count on him being so...”

Arthur contemplated what she said. So it was just a story of two siblings trying to protect one another?

“Hold on-- there are holes in your story.”

“What holes?” She straightened up, apparently wishing Arthur had just accepted her story as it was.

“First of all, why did you assume your brother pushed her? You can’t see up that cliff at night. She could have easily just fallen and you decided to put her out of her misery? Second, the fact that you didn’t race for help is suspicious, too. If she was still alive, both of you would be fine. There was no motive to just kill her. You didn’t even know your brother pushed her yet!”

“I…” Her composure was starting to break.

“Did you want to frame Gilgamesh?” Arthur demanded. “Or did you really want to protect him? Answer me!”

“I always-- always wanted to protect him. How dare you insinuate otherwise.” She narrowed her eyes at him, standing up. “I demand you take me to the police station at once so we can free my brother.”

“And furthermore, how did Olga Marie fall off the cliff? I know Gilgamesh didn’t push her.”

“Stop--”

“That’s quite enough.” A third voice spoke.

Arthur would have stood up and turned around, but the only thing he felt was an immediate, bludgeoning pain to the side of his head. Before his world went dark, he saw dark, blue-grey eyes leering down at him and heard the man who’d hit him speak. Adel had been pinned by her maid, screaming to be let go of, and he could hear her being dragged out of the room.

“Think outside of the box, won’t you? There were _ four  _ people there that night. Not that I think you’ll remember by the time you wake up...”

Another bash to the head. Then, nothing.

\--

A bump. Then, a rumble, then-- Arthur regained consciousness in pitch-black surroundings.

It was a slow process, to be sure, and he could tell through the darkness that he was in the trunk of someone’s car, and that car was currently speeding down some street. His wrists were bound, but his legs were free. Trying to spit the gag from his mouth, his foot found the tail-light and kicked it out.

There wasn’t much he could do, quietly working his wrists to get free of the bonds, but it was tight-- professionally done. There was no way he’d get free from those. He just hoped the tail light bouncing down the street gave someone the cue to do  _ something _ . He ached all over and could feel the drying stains of blood running down his scalp. This might really be it, he might have died for this case and he didn’t even solve it yet.

He recognized the man who had put him in the trunk, though, and it filled him with such a rage that made him struggle against his bonds in hopes he could simply tear free of them. Even through the pain, all he could think about were those damn eyes. Adel didn’t flee to hide from the authorities, she was being held captive by the real killer. That’s why she was so desperate for Arthur to take her to the police station. Stupid...

If only he had realized sooner.

The car slowed to a stop, and the trunk was popped. Arthur tried to sit up, but the man who’d bludgeoned him over the head made sure he stayed down. That gray hair, that smirk… Arthur would recognize it from a mile away. It was so ingrained into his mind that he almost saw it every time he slept.

“Well, well,” James Moriarty said with a laugh. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Arthur Pendragon?”

\--

Arthur had no one he could count on to rescue him. Ozymandias, maybe, but he and Moriarty were fierce rivals. Stepping onto his turf might be too much risk to save one disposable detective.

He was tied to a chair in a backroom lined with green tile and coated in rusty red stains. It reminded him of patina and copper. He presumed Adel was in the other room, getting gentler treatment. Why had Moriarty kept her alive…? If he was the one to spring the trap and kill the girl, was he just using Adel as a plan B in case Gilgamesh was declared innocent? That bastard… he truly was unspeakably  _ evil _ .

Arthur had no hope. No one to turn to. This might be the place he died, and yet, he wasn’t praying or anything like that. He just wanted so badly to believe Artoria was on the other side so he could see her again. Then, as he turned his head achingly towards the door, someone came in. It was a girl with short, orange-reddish hair. Apparently, she was the one to keep an eye on him.

“Where is he…” Arthur panted. He just wanted answers. Not just from this case, but from cases long since past.

“Uh…” The girl answered. It seemed she couldn’t speak well.

The terse silence that passed between them was uninterrupted. Then, as Moriarty came in, he feigned shock to see Fran inside, patted her shoulder, and told her she could leave this man alone for now.

“Always getting into Papa’s business…” He laughed. “Well, Arthur. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“...” Arthur didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being acknowledged.

“Is it lonely, at your office? I’d imagine so.” Moriarty began to circle him like a hawk closing in on prey. “You never had a partner after Artoria, did you?”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ say her name.”

“Oh, please, Arthur. Using her name is hardly the worst thing I’ve done to her. You can tolerate it.” He gave Arthur’s cheek a little pat. “More importantly, we’re going to have to do something about you. I have eyes in the police station, you know. I know how much you’ve figured out… and you’re going to let it all go. You’ll let Gilgamesh go to prison. You’ll forget this ever happened.”

“I’d rather _ die _ \--”

“I’m sure you would, and I’d love to grant that request for you,” Moriarty smiled thinly. “After all, if you’re determined to prove a problem for me, I’ll just remove you from the equation. I’m just giving you the chance to walk away, pack up your things, and go.”

“No you’re not,” Arthur spat blood at his feet. “You’re just trying to give me false hope so you can shoot me in the back.”

“Oh, well if you can read me so well--” Moriarty pulled a gun from a nearby table, and put it to Arthur’s temple. “How about we do it right here, right now?”

“I’m not afraid of dying.”

“But you are afraid of doing nothing, aren’t you?” Moriarty crooned. “You die here, and Gilgamesh will definitely catch the blame, hm?”

“Why’d you do it?”

“Hm, that is a good question, now, isn’t it? Don’t you want to know so badly?”

“...”

“Well, I’m not dumb. Whether or not you get out of here alive-- which you won’t, by the way-- I’m not the type to spill my plans until the very end, and among trusted company, of course.”

“Nobody’s coming for me… why not just end it?”

“Why does the cat play with the mouse? It’s nice seeing you again, Arthur. Really, ever since that night in January, I wondered how you’d been doing for yourself,” Moriarty pushed aside Arthur’s trench coat and looked condescendingly at his suit. “But it appears not well, if you’re still wearing the same clothes on the night I killed your sister. Really, Arthur. Update your wardrobe.”

The taunting, the careless insults, all of it drove Arthur mad, but he was just bracing for the moment Moriarty shot him, trying not to go back to that night.

“Just get it over with.”

“You’re so boring when you’re hopeless, Arthur. Where’s that noble fire in your eyes? I swear you have fallen so far…”

Moriarty pulled back the safety on the gun when he heard a commotion from the other room. Sighing, he looked at Arthur one last time before setting the gun down. “Maybe you’ve got more of the devil’s luck than you think, but I’m still not letting you go scot-free.”

He picked up a much bigger gun, a tommy, from the table, and left the room.

Arthur was busy working on his restraints. Of course, he didn’t want to die, but the more bored he made Moriarty, the more he could stall. Dealing with that man… let’s say Arthur had done a lot of it in the past. Studying his case files, reading profiler reports, learning what made him tick. He bit down hard as he broke his own thumb to slip the restraints, nearly crying out in pain but grateful to be free. He quickly snatched up the gun from the table, and before anything could happen, he needed to find Adel.

Carefully avoiding the noisy conflict in the room down the hall, he started checking rooms as his hand  _ ached  _ and he held the gun in his other. So far, nothing. Interrogation rooms, most likely. But then-- he found Adel’s, where she was being kept a degree more comfortable. Arthur motioned for her to stand up and follow him. It had been a long time since he’d been in Moriarty’s hideout, but there should be an open window nearby if his memory served him right.

Once Arthur got to it and pulled it open, he confirmed no one was shooting while doing his best to protect Adel. It was a veritable small-scale  _ war _ between Moriarty’s people and others he recognized were Ozymandias’ men. Oh my god, Arthur thought, he owed the man so many apologies and thank yous. One of the cars pulled up to the side rolled down their window ever so slightly to motion to Arthur to come over. Arthur covered Adel as they went, the car door opening for him to see Ozymandias inside.

“Hurry!”

Adel piled in first, but Arthur was a little too late.

Sharp, stinging pain in his side. He collapsed through the open door of the car, blood staining his shirt. Someone had seen him and managed to shoot him right in the gut.

As Arthur’s vision blurred, he felt Adel and Ozymandias pull him into the car before speeding off. He felt them both put pressure on the wound, his head swimming and dizzily trying to shrug off the pain. There was so much of it… and yet, there was nothing he could do.

At least they missed his head, he thought. This way, he could dream of all the things he missed up until the very end.

\--

It was the second rude awakening Arthur had in such a short time, but it was difficult to ignore when he felt someone stitching his side closed the moment he woke up. Crying out in anguish, the nurse didn’t say anything.

“You were lucky to be unconscious for the operation. I don’t have anesthetics here.”

Arthur looked to the side and recognized the woman. She was basically an underground doctor, Miss Florence Nightingale. He’d only met her a few times, but… even as the stinging pain coursed through his body, she spoke.

“It missed your internal organs, and it doesn’t look to be infected. Count your lucky stars.”

Nightingale had a no-nonsense outlook on what Arthur, at that moment, viewed as a very serious situation. Ozymandias was leaning on the doorway as Arthur realized that this must have been a room of his little nightclub.

“My dues?” Nightingale asked, peeling her reddened rubber gloves off her hand.

“My man, Diarmuid, has a suitcase full of money for you in the next room. Will Arthur be all right?”

“Don’t let him move much for the next several weeks. He needs to recover fully.”

Ozymandias nodded, before letting her pack up her medical tools and go. Ozymandias stood over Arthur’s listless form and smiled.

“Aren’t you lucky one of my men saw Moriarty’s car lose a tail light on main street?”

“Just… thrilled.” Arthur gasped out. “Where's-- where’s Adel?”

“Why, she’s at the police station right now. Giving her confession.”

Arthur tried sitting up, but the  _ pain,  _ stabbing and brutal, left him flat on his back. “How long have I been out?”

“Long enough for me to figure out your game and get what I needed to know from the girl. I’m grateful, Arthur. Taking out Nightingale’s fee, I’m still going to pay you quite a bit. Be grateful.”

“You can’t-- she’s his sister--”

“And? She still murdered someone, and Gilgamesh is one of  _ my dearest friends.  _ He’s not allowed to rot away in prison. He knows this.”

Arthur tensed. “He will never forgive you.”

“Then… your job isn’t done, is it?” Ozymandias looked at him, curious. “Why was Moriarty involved in Olga Marie’s death?”

“I don’t… know. He refused to tell me.”

“Interesting… then, you and Gilgamesh can work on that together. He’s motivated to get his sibling out, and you… well, you don’t want him to hate you, do you? I’d be surprised if you could ever manage to fall out of love with him.”

“You’re asking me to take on Moriarty and his men… that’s like trying to pry a spider from its web as a fly.”

“I’m sure you can do it. In the meantime… we’ll tend to you. It’s not as if Adel’s trial will begin anytime soon.”

Arthur looked at him and simply went slack on the table. Ozymandias shook his head, and seemingly taking pity on him, took a bottle of pills and poured one out in his hand. He placed it in Arthur’s unbroken palm. “These are illegal at the moment and hard to come by, but it'll soothe your pain  _ and _ brighten your mood. It’s addictive, so don’t count on me giving you any more. Such is my generosity.”

Arthur would normally turn it down, but the pain was so much that he couldn’t bear not to use it. He swallowed it dry and gently reached down to touch his wound. The nurse did such good work that all he could feel were a few stitches. He expected to be cut half-open with that kind of pain. Still, it stung like hell to touch it, and Arthur laid back, trying not to think about how Gilgamesh was going to kill him for getting this far-- but not far enough.

\--

It was late at night when Gilgamesh arrived at Ozymandias’ club.

Despite all of his hollering, he’d been set free on the grounds of his sister’s confession. From a short conversation with her, and then another from Ozymandias, he’d basically been filled in on the situation. Moriarty was involved in Olga’s death and he and his sister were taking the blame for it. He’d even placed his sister on lockdown to make sure everything went smoothly. To say that he was not a happy camper would be an understatement.

Still, he opened the door to the room Arthur was being kept in. In a red shirt and golden bangles on his wrists, clothes he was quick to re-dress himself in, he sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed.

“Oh, hey…” Arthur smiled a little too quickly, most likely due to the opiate in his veins, and Gilgamesh slapped him.

“You don’t know when to stop, do you? Mongrel.” The scowl on his face was a perfect reflection of his anger, and he grabbed Arthur by the chin.

“I know I’m supposed to be mad that you hit me, but I’m just… so glad you’re okay,” Arthur panted. “I’m going to need time to recover, but… but I’ll help you. Don’t throw yourself into danger before I can help you.”

Gilgamesh’s cold copper-red eyes appraised him before he sharply exhaled a sigh. “You, going to all these lengths for me… doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m sorry, I know…” Arthur was feeling a little too nice, and therefore a little too honest. “But I just can’t let those feelings go away. I should’ve had my heart broken by the art gallery thing, but--”

“What art gallery thing?”

“You stopped coming, and that’s when I knew you didn’t care about me anymore.”

“... mongrel,” Gilgamesh said for the second time. “That’s not why I stopped going. I stopped going because my life was going to taint yours. You just started your new detective agency. People were sure to dig up any ties you had.” He paused. “Do you still paint?”

“Nope, not at all, hahaha…”

Gilgamesh glared at him. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m just… so relieved… that you didn’t give up on me after all.”

Tears started to form at the corner of his eyes. “You don’t know… how much that haunted me. How bad it made me feel.”

Gilgamesh was silent for a moment, looking over Arthur in his drugged-up state and knowing he was being completely, if unwisely, honest. “Hm… Arthur, there’s a lot of things I wanted to say to you back then. I shouldn’t have cut ties so abruptly. Perhaps I shouldn’t have cut them at all, but...”

“I needed you after she died.”

Gilgamesh’s expression darkened. There were some things he truly regretted with Arthur, and to hear him pour out his heart over that particular moment… his fist tightened, grabbing onto the sheet as he leaned over and kissed Arthur’s forehead. He generally absolved himself of blame, but this was one of the things he couldn’t ignore, no matter what. Leaving Arthur when he needed him most felt like a tantamount sin.

“I know.”

“Are you going to leave again?”

“... you’re involved now whether I like it or not,” Gilgamesh said, evenly. “So no, I won’t.”

“Do you still l--”

“Rest, Arthur. I have to go talk to the boss, I’ll be back soon.”

Arthur watched as he left, mouthing the words ‘don’t go’, his breath barely above a whisper.


	6. Chapter 6

For once, Arthur had both the privilege and demand to rest after a couple of insane days. Ozymandias was seeing to the fact that he stuck to Nightingale’s instructions, and he was pulling all strings he had to delay Adel’s court date. Arthur would  _ have  _ to recover before even attempting something so crazy as dragging in a rival crime lord to face justice. Each day, as the pain became less extreme to deal with, he managed to move more and do more as the wound slowly grew easier to walk with.

(Arthur, ever grateful to Ozymandias, was glad he sent Diarmuid to take care of his cats.)

Gilgamesh would check in on him from time to time, as opposed to how much more often Arthur wanted him to, but Gilgamesh was keeping his distance for a good reason. He wanted to make sure Arthur was recovering just fine if he intended to make good on his promise. They still had to save his sister, and there was the great mystery of how Moriarty made Olga fall off the cliff in the first place.

“She pushed me, and the next moment, she was tumbling backward. I hardly had time to grab her, I thought she had simply been unable to move me, and the pushback from the force she gave made her stumble. Thinking back on it now, though…” Gilgamesh crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Her center of gravity was off. He probably used the fishing line to pull her down. The way she fell was… odd.”

“What were the two of you talking about?”

“I said some unsavory things about her in an interview conducted by the press. She’s not usually the type to get ruffled over that sort of thing, but-- apparently, I spit on the honor of her name, as she put it. She asked me if I was just saying it to further my adoptive father’s campaign, and I told her no. That was when she pushed me.”

Arthur sighed. Gilgamesh could be very honest, even when it wasn’t the wisest idea-- almost as if lying would damage his pride. “It wasn’t a particularly hard shove, either-- I think her anger just got the better of her and she was moments away from simply storming off. If only she had been so lucky.”

So the conversation between him and the murder victim was… harsh, but not serious? Arthur was glad to finally get the truth from the source. “How could Moriarty have learned about the location you were going to meet up in?”

“That  _ is  _ the question of the hour, isn’t it? I would presume a wiretap, though if the police have gone through my belongings, I suspect it’s long gone.”

“Why would Moriarty want Olga Marie dead?”

“Possibly because he’d ruin the election for both runners? Think about it. My father certainly can’t run any longer and he might have expected Animusphere to crumble too. He wanted to insert his own man into the running in my father’s place, could be. Maybe because he was paid to by a generous donor…”

“Corrupt politics. My favorite...”

“Well… hardly anything we can do about that part. Moriarty is going to be harder to find, now, unless he brazenly decides to end your life at the cost of his own men. We have to be smart about this, Arthur.”

Arthur agreed. It was hard to imagine something so dangerous as what they were about to undertake. They had waves upon waves of men to move through to get to the top, and infiltration was going to be key. Neither Gilgamesh nor Arthur would be able to successfully disguise themselves into their hideout. They needed a third player. Someone who’d be willing to help.

And that was where they were stuck.

As the days passed, Gilgamesh visited him more and more. He had a lot of affairs to handle but he managed to find time for him. Ever flirting through the distance between them, he still had a lot of complicated feelings for how he left Arthur in the dust, and now he owed the man a debt for taking a bullet for his sister. Gilgamesh never considered himself  _ owing,  _ things were owed TO him, but this he couldn’t deny. Still… Arthur’s feeling for him touched his heart, but he’d always known since the beginning that Arthur was loyal to a fault, and Gilgamesh was the first person he’d entrusted his heart to.

If only the silly man would notice he had other people who would be just as devoted to him and wouldn’t vanish from his life, either. Gilgamesh knew Arthur would find no one better than him, but at the same time, it wouldn’t harm him at all to settle for less. He’d be safer, for one.

Gilgamesh borrowed one of Ozymandias’ phones and rang up someone he knew could help.

“Hello?” The polite, soft-spoken voice answered on the other end.

“Enkidu, have you been reading the newspapers? I know I told you to go on that vacation to get away from it all, but--”

“Oh, not at all. Tell me.”

Gilgamesh filled them in on everything. Every last thing, from Arthur’s involvement to his sibling to the strange murder they found themselves at the center of, and how the only way to absolve his sister’s name would be to find the criminal mastermind responsible and take him in. Enkidu was rather silent for the entire phone call, but when it was clear Gilgamesh was finished, their tone sounded almost playful.

“Why, you should have called me while you were in jail. I would’ve broken you out and there’d be no mess right now.”

“I know, I know… but we’re going to need you. Nobody can trick someone quite as you can, and I know you relish the challenge.”

“I’ll be on the first train to Chicago. Gilgamesh?”

“Yes?”

“Save some of Moriarty’s men for me to beat the snot out of.”

Gilgamesh laughed a sharp howl that hadn’t been heard ever since he’d been arrested in the first place.

“I knew I could count on you.”

“Good-bye.”

Enkidu was practically a chameleon, able to change appearances with the right makeup and outfit, with a voice that could easily be shifted. If someone could sneak into Moriarty’s base of operations and gather information, it’d be them. Ozymandias had used their talents before for a hefty price and walked away satisfied with the results. When they’d first met, Enkidu and Gilgamesh had  _ fought,  _ brutally, and came out of it as best friends, and the one person Gilgamesh could trust.

Arthur knew them well, knew they were a fine person, and were quite protective of Gil, and once upon a time they had been close. It had been a long time since he’d seen them, and he looked forward to it. They’d always been sweet, but with the most threatening aura, he’d ever met. It was, of course, dangerous to cross them-- but if they were pleased with you, you could count on them for good advice and a kind ear.

“What’s our plan for now?” Arthur asked.

“Our plan? You’re staying in bed,” Gilgamesh answered. “You’ve done so much already, Arthur, I’m not about to send you into battle with an open wound.”

“I need to see this to the end,” Arthur answered. “Please.”

Gilgamesh could respect that devotion, but he was starting to get a little sick of it too. Gilgamesh rarely worried about others, but he was worrying for Arthur a bit too much. Surely, some beasts were better left to other heroes to fight, but Arthur, ever the knight, wanted to be the one to take down this particular dragon. It dawned on Gilgamesh that really, he just wanted Arthur to survive. He’d done so much, he could stand to pass on the baton, right?

That, and there were residual feelings… things Gilgamesh had tried to drown in other people, in wine, and in gold. He never forgot Arthur,  _ his _ Arthur, and how Arthur had needed him most right when he up and vanished from his life. Those feelings would have broken any other man, made them bitter, and he was sure some part of Arthur was bitter and couldn’t trust him the same as he used to, but Arthur was so… so radiant, like the light of the sun. Free of sin, before he tumbled down this hole with Gilgamesh.

Gilgamesh thought  _ very  _ highly of himself, but often did he wonder if Arthur deserved better, or maybe not ‘better’, but ‘different’. ‘Kinder’ ‘more loving’ ‘there for him’, and he knew one man who fit that description better than anyone.

Yet, the greedy monster in Gilgamesh didn’t want to share him or pass his hand off. Even if approaching Arthur was awkward and he had so much to make up for, Arthur never gave the impression that he was bothered by what Gilgamesh had done. He’d naturally accepted his excuse as reasonable, even if there was a sad look in his eyes.

Arthur had said one evening, “I just wanted you to be there, but I understand. She was killed, and then you thought by disappearing, nothing else would happen to me, but--”

“But?”

Arthur closed his eyes, resting his head against the pillow. “I almost wish you had just risked it. Even if I died, it would have been…”

‘Better’.

Gilgamesh could not stand it, this man’s view of self-sacrifice was so selfish, but so was he for abandoning him. As much as he wanted to say that he’d pushed down the love, it had slowly surfaced yet again.

It brought him back to fonder memories.

\--

_ “Was I your first?” _

_ The subtle smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the room as Gilgamesh flipped open a lighter and offered to light Arthur’s as well, which he accepted. Arthur was still not used to it, but he suppressed his coughing much easier this time. Gilgamesh’s question made him turn slightly red. _

_ “Well,” Arthur said. “I didn’t exactly have any opportunity… girls wanted me, sure, but--” _

_ “You didn’t want them.” _

_ “I just… I couldn’t feel anything, Gilgamesh. I wanted so badly to kiss a girl and feel fireworks, but it never happened. I tried with some, but never got very far…” _

_ “Because you knew what you wanted,” Gilgamesh said, smirking. “And nothing was going to change that.” _

_ “Mmhm. Even now, it feels… surreal. Like I’m the only one with this secret and I just trusted it to someone who can keep it.” Arthur took a drag of his cigarette and breathed out the smoke. Gilgamesh laughed, a little derisively. Arthur could be so sweet, almost naive but not quite. To bear a burden like that all your life... _

_ “Why would people be so against us if they thought we didn’t exist? There are plenty of people like you and me-- the world just hides them away.” _

_ Arthur struggled with the next part. “I didn’t… tell them, you know. The draft recruiter. Someone outed me to him, and I was turned away. I’m amazed that the secret didn’t get out from there, making me some kind of pariah. I still wish I could’ve fought. I--” _

_ “Shh,” Gilgamesh gripped the back of Arthur’s head and lured him into a kiss. “If you’d gone off to die, we never would have met, and I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of savoring all of you. Besides, you have to protect the people here. If all of the officers left, this town would fall into chaos.” _

_ “You’re barely on the side of the law. Why did you want to date me?” _

_ “I didn’t  _ decide on it _ , mongrel. I was just taken with you,” His words were unspeakably romantic to Arthur, who had been so afraid of being used at the start of it, but Gilgamesh was honest-- not because he was kind or anything like that, but because lying felt almost beneath him. “You challenge me, intrigue me, and please me all at once. How can I not?” _

_ Gilgamesh’s praise was rarely doled out often, and it made Arthur put out his cigarette to pull the other man back to bed. _

_ “This inexperienced detective can please you?” Mischief ever-present in his emerald eyes. “I thought you said I was rough around the edges.” _

_ “So is every diamond, before it’s polished. Come. Show me what years of repression has built up to.” _

\--

That memory Gilgamesh had cherished so openly was so far in the past. Arthur had given up his badge and decided to work as a detective with his sister. They were immigrants from the UK and settled in quite nicely in Chicago since they were kids, but Arthur cutely never lost his accent. Arthur was never on the lawful side or the criminal side-- he was on whatever side was  _ right _ , and that made him not cut out to be a by-the-books police officer. Of course, he’d never overlook the harm that mobs could do, but he wasn’t about to turn the other way when a girl was in danger.

It was why he was hesitant to get involved with Ozymandias again but did so anyway. He needed them to save Gilgamesh. Arthur was never a hypocrite about it either. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he wouldn’t dare give up on someone who needed him. It was a conundrum of a situation, but at least Arthur had tried to stay uninvolved with Ozymandias until he was threatened and forced to comply.

Gilgamesh admired the two of them.

Arthur, for being a noble knight free of the shackles of law, practically a vigilante. Ozymandias, for commanding power but never dipping his toes into someplace so dark it’d be difficult to return from. He mostly ran illicit casinos, made his fortune during prohibition, and did ‘favors’ for people outside of the law. Sure, he had to collect, but he didn’t prey on people the way some of his men would have liked him to, and would have thought they’d make more money doing so.

They both were quite respectable, in their own ways. On different ends of the spectrum of good and bad, sure, but also…

Gilgamesh was interrupted from his thoughts seeing Arthur standing up with a hand on his stomach and gritting through the stinging sensation.

“And what do you think you’re doing, mongrel?” Gilgamesh crossed his arms, leaning on the doorway of the little bedroom Arthur had been calling home.

“I have to get--” Arthur gasped. “I have to get stronger again. I can’t sit here taking painkillers and watching the world drift by, not when there’s an innocent young lady in prison.”

“And reopen your wound? Nightingale will charge a mountain of money for that and you won’t get paid.” Gilgamesh pushed him gently back into the bed. “At least wait until she can remove the stitches.”

Arthur gave him that kicked puppy look that won over so many arguments in the past, but Gilgamesh had long since built up an immunity. Still… it’d been a while since he’d seen that face.

“What’s the matter, Arthur?” He patted his cheek. “Can’t wait to get shot again? Besides, we need this time to cool down and wait for Moriarty to get comfortable again. He doesn’t know if you’re alive or dead, after all.”

Arthur glanced aside, perfectly mirroring the look of a disappointed labrador. “I just…”

“Ozymandias has it handled. Rest.”

Arthur laid back on the bed, knowing he’d be restless enough to try again later. Gilgamesh knew that too, which was why he had to keep a close eye on him. He sauntered back into the bar where Ozymandias was watching his guests enjoy the music and alcohol. This club was incredibly exclusive-- only friends of his were allowed on nights like this, and he always treated them right.

“Ozy,” Gilgamesh pulled aside a wooden chair and sat down at his table, using the nickname only-- and especially-- reserved for Gilgamesh to use. “Arthur’s getting restless.”

Ozymandias shrugged, not concerned in the least. “He can get restless and leave and die or recover and actually help you. He’s smart enough to know the right thing to do. That and Adel will be fine for at least another month. Speaking of…” Golden eyes settled on Gilgamesh, narrowing ever so slightly. “Why did you never tell me about her? I thought there were no secrets between us.”

“Look what happened the very first time she got involved with any mob. Framed for murder and is now in jail, awaiting her sentencing. She can’t help but get involved in my life, she’s so determined… and so, that’s why I had to keep her out of it.

“I see…” Gilgamesh knew Ozymandias had people he wished to protect as well. Nefertari, his beloved wife, was all but unknown to most of his staff. “Still, I would have helped protect her, had I known.”

“Tsk,” Gilgamesh waved over a waiter for a few drinks, apparently needing something to take the edge off. “We’re not especially close as adults, but as children, I had to be the tough older brother. No one could tease her but me, and we grew up surprisingly close. I just wanted to make sure she stayed out of all of this.”

“Like you wanted for Arthur?”

Gilgamesh bitterly said nothing.

“Look,” Ozymandias said, leaning in with his hands clasped together. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this business, this-- life… it’s that the more you try to protect someone, the more luck will try desperately to pry them apart from you. It’s wise to be cautious, but secrets become the prizes of our enemies. Our weak points, our Achilles heel. I’m not saying stop. I’m saying let the capable people in your life do their part. Adel can hold her own while we rescue her, right? You said she’s a smart girl.”

Gilgamesh nodded, accepting his drink once the waiter brought it over.

“And Arthur, well… neither you nor I could stop him. As soon as he can walk and run, he’ll be plotting with you on the best way to get this all settled. Of course, just because the bullet missed its target doesn’t mean it won’t take a while…”

“I have someone who can do leg work in the meantime, and I’ll be helping them.”

Ozymandias laughed. “Just don’t get yourself killed, all right?”

“Please. I don’t intend to pile on to the lifetime of tragedies Arthur has endured. I’ll make it out alive.”

Ozymandias opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to say something he wanted Gilgamesh to know before things got rough, but the way he mentioned  _ Arthur  _ at the very end made him keep his mouth shut. He simply raised his glass to clink it next to Gilgamesh’s and wished him good luck.

He was going to need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> I kind of wanted to explain some things about Adel, and why I didn't simply use a character from Fate (Jack, Nursery Crime, etc) in her place.
> 
> I just wanted to make sure the character had enough mystery surrounding them that you couldn't guess quite what they were involved with. With most characters in non-original work, you can guess what they're all about and reasonably suspect them. That's the reason, haha. I wanted her to be a bit mysterious, but if it grinds your gears, please imagine uhhh Jack in her place. She was my second choice.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun Chicago facts:  
> The Majestic Theater is now called the CIBC Theater! I saw Hamilton there once. I rolled Osakabehime while in the theater.

The train pulled into Union Station roughly five minutes late, falling just short of its usual impeccable timing. Arriving from Philadelphia, Gilgamesh wondered what Enkidu was up to in that particular city. Another job? Or were they just visiting their angry little twin sibling, Kingu? Whatever the case, he greeted Enkidu with a hug and patted their back. Enkidu smiled at him, before tugging on his earring.

“Why didn’t you use your one phone call on me?” They asked, smiling a completely menacing grin. “You completely neglected to tell your best friend what happened to you until now?”

Gilgamesh grimaced, still happy to see them. “I just… it’s been a busy time, after all! Hmph. I also knew exactly what you were going to do when you found out.”

Ah, yes. Disguise as a cop and steal a key and get Gilgamesh out of there. Would Gil be a lifelong criminal? Sure, but it was the simpler way of doing it. Enkidu was a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to Gilgamesh. As Gilgamesh ordered one of Ozymandias’ lackeys to pick up their luggage and haul it to their car, he began to fill them in on what had happened that couldn’t be fit inside a phone call-- and what couldn’t safely be told without fearing a wiretap.

“So he’s still out of commission,” Enkidu mused about Arthur.

“A man with that kind of gunshot wound should be down for months, but with that devil’s luck of his, he’ll be back on his feet by a week from now, or certainly try to be.”

“I see… well, we can’t leave him out now. That would just be cruel, even if I know you and I can handle it on our own.”

The car ride in the sleek red vehicle back was spent chatting about Adel and Kingu, how Gilgamesh had visited her the other day and how she seemed to be holding up well, not giving the cops too much information besides what she already had. As much as Gilgamesh hated it, if she stayed in there while they gathered evidence on Moriarty, the Napoleon of Crime himself would have less of a reason to interfere with their investigation. She was being a good sport about it and trusted Gilgamesh with all her heart.

“As long as he thinks Adel will be going to jail for the crime, he won’t try and put you back in there, too,” Enkidu said, leaning on the window of the car.

“Who knows? He may be plotting a way to do just that. Might say it was a crime between accomplices to neatly get rid of both of us. He did have men in the police station, he said…”

“Then we need evidence before he destroys it, and I’m going to have to sneak in and get it.”

Enkidu’s trade was undercover operations. Despite their flowing green hair, they were a master at disguising themself as anyone they had a picture of and had the equipment to make it so. Of course, they needed details. Things down to the right cologne or perfume the person used. They had used this talent for both good things and less than good things, but they got results and hadn’t been caught yet. It was their talent ever since they were young, trained by a master of the trade as well.

Gilgamesh didn’t like the idea of sending them in alone, but the thing was-- Gilgamesh stood out like a sore thumb, with all the subtlety of a peacock. He couldn’t alter his voice and he couldn’t take insults lying down, so pretending to be a hapless crook was very difficult for him. He could manage, sure, but it was obscenely hard for him, and he’d been caught before, as much as he hated to admit it.

When they arrived at Ozy’s club, Enkidu practically made a bee-line for Arthur’s room. Just as Arthur was sitting up from his bed, seeing Enkidu stopped him in his tracks. He offered a nervous smile, knowing he’d been caught just as he had tried to test his ability to walk. Enkidu merely laughed quietly, offering a hand to Arthur.

“You’re going to accompany us, aren’t you? Let’s see how those two legs carry you.”

It was strange, meeting them again. Gilgamesh made no secret that he preferred Enkidu to practically all other people, and Arthur knew that included him, yet he never felt jealous of the person. He wanted someone like that for himself, a friend he could rely upon through everything. He felt like he’d driven most of them away, or they were friends of Artoria’s and grew distant by proxy. It was hard keeping company with a rather grim, if kind detective. Enkidu knew that Gilgamesh viewed Arthur as a romantic interest, and showed no jealousy for that, either. Their bond was as secure as steel, and any envy fell by the wayside of that.

As Enkidu held him up and helped him walk to the other end of the room, where Gilgamesh waited at a table with three chairs, Arthur gratefully sat down and thanked Enkidu for the help. He’d spent enough time in bed, now, it was time to get to business.

“So, Gilgamesh informed me about how all of this has gone,” Enkidu glanced at Arthur, then at Gilgamesh. “With a few missteps. Arthur, you really should rely on other people to help you when the going gets tough, but thankfully we’re all here now-- and the most important goal is getting evidence Moriarty planned the hit.”

A hit. Arthur gulped, he hadn’t thought of that in such harsh terms, but he supposed that’s what it was. Gathering evidence really was the most important part of what they were supposed to do next-- if they had concrete evidence, and police backup, it didn’t matter if they had to bring in Moriarty or leave it to the cops-- the latter would be preferable, they just had to prove Adel was a witness to the crime and not the perpetrator.

“Here’s my plan,” Enkidu leaned back in their chair. “We capture one of Moriarty’s men.”

“... that’s quite a leap,” Arthur was shocked.

“It’s necessary. I need to imitate them properly, after all. Just knocking them out and putting on their clothes is sloppy. We’re dealing with a genius-- someone who would recognize something was off with his men in an instant,” Enkidu snapped their fingers. “Do you two know of any one of them who go into town often?”

“William Shakespeare,” Gilgamesh answered immediately. “He’s like Moriarty’s right hand, it’s not hard to find him around town. One can often find him at theaters.”

“Then we have a target, we just need to find out his schedule and take him in. Then… we’ll search Moriarty’s base for something incriminating about the murder. A letter, a plan, a map if he’s so careless… something that can’t be vague at all. There’s sure to be something.”

As Arthur listened, the more impressed he became. Enkidu really was a professional… they’d come up with a plan in no time, taking everything into account, only needing a name and a target to enact the plan on. Enkidu looked Arthur’s way.

“How long until you think you can walk properly?”

“I can do it now, even if it hurts.”

“Mongrel. Answer the question like they intended,” Gilgamesh scolded him.

“... In a week, probably.”

“Then a week it’ll be,” Enkidu replied. “By then, we should have our scouting done, too. You rest, Arthur. Focus on that and nothing else.”

Arthur nodded. He just wished he hadn’t been so brutally incapacitated, otherwise, he could be helping with this operation.

\--

Arthur could do very little to help, but that didn’t mean it was all boring.

Nefertari, Ozymandias’ wife, actually came to visit him, and she was the kindest woman Arthur had ever met. He would have never guessed she’d have such close ties to this profession, everything about her spoke of a normal life. She brought Arthur books she considered her favorites and offered to bring pastries from her favorite bakery, but he politely declined, not wanting to take advantage of her kindness. He did read the books, though. They were often stories of romance, and though Arthur couldn’t quite relate, he appreciated the work put into them.

His most surprising visitor had been another person who was once on the police force, who lived down the hall from him in his building; Bedivere.

He’d caught Diarmuid while he was taking care of Arthur’s cats and practically begged to know where he was. He was terrified for Arthur’s safety, knowing he took on dangerous cases and made enemies wherever he went. Diarmuid checked with Ozymandias and they both decided to let him in, on the condition that Bedivere speak nothing of what he saw. Too loyal to ever put Arthur’s life in jeopardy, he accepted.

He just didn’t expect Arthur to be on a bed in the back of a mob hideout.

“You got shot? Let me see--” Bedivere demanded, lifting up Arthur’s shirt without permission before he could protest. “It’s smaller than I expected, but right in your side… you’re lucky it missed everything important. You could have been killed, or paralyzed, or internally bleeding…” As Bedivere rattled off all the bad things Arthur could’ve gone through, Arthur quickly tried to put the other man at ease.

“I was just lucky. Now, can you tell me what’s been going on in my absence?”

“Lancelot is… tearing up the city trying to find you, but I know I can’t tell him where you are,” Bedivere sighed. “He really cares about you, you know. Almost too much.”

Arthur smiled slightly at the admission. “I know. I’ll be sure to let him know everything I can. For now, though--”

“It’s a secret. I get it. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You were in the Behavioral Science Unit at the CPD offices, Bedivere… you knew more about the mobs in town than anyone else. Can you tell me about them?”

“Well, there’s… Ozymandias… he’s rather wanted, but he’s not as big of a threat as the other two. He’s actually quite well respected for putting money back into the community, too. There’s James Moriarty, who has an iron grip on the heart of Chicago, and you already know so much about him. Then, there’s what we call the Mad King. Cu Chulainn. He’s rapidly been gaining power in drug imports and all sorts of unsavory things. He’s also the kind of person to cause a bloodbath when he doesn’t get what he wants. So there’s the King of Kings, Napoleon of Crime, and Mad King. All three vying for power. You’re… as much as I hate to say it, you’re lucky to have at least one faction on your side. As much as I wish you didn’t.”

“Do you think less of me…?”

“No. I’ve always known you to pursue what’s right, regardless of who you get involved with. You’re trying to clear an innocent girl’s name, that’s all I need to know.”

Arthur smiled and patted Bedivere’s hand. “I’m so glad I can count on you, but please-- don’t involve yourself any more than this. I can’t stand the idea of you getting hurt.”

“Do you think it’s any easier for me to see you get hurt, Arthur?” The response was full of anguish. “I don’t want to see you recovering from a bullet wound anymore than you’d want to see me in the same situation. You can be a bit selfish, sometimes… thinking that what applies to you doesn’t apply to others.”

That was actually surprisingly cold of Bedivere, but he told facts honestly and didn’t care to butter him up over it. He plainly didn’t approve of this whole situation, and yet-- and yet, he threw himself into it just to make sure that a very dear friend was okay. Arthur realized he had been selfish, with pretty much everyone involved, thinking throwing away his life to save one person would make anything better.

“Hey…” Arthur closed his hand over Bedivere’s and gave him a warm smile. “I have something to live for. It took me a while to find it after Artoria died, but now I’m determined to keep going, keep running… no matter what.”

That seemed to reassure Bedivere, as he clasped Arthur’s hand back. Bedivere was no longer on the force because he’d lost an arm in an incident, so the hand holding Arthur’s was the only one he had. A rather dated prosthetic gave the illusion of having a second arm.

“Just promise me that you’ll survive this, that’s all I ask. Leave stuff to others when you can, let people take care of you. You’ve gone so far with this case that you can honestly leave the rest to these… erm, professionals--”

“I can’t do that. I have to see it to the end, you know this.”

Bedivere sighed. “Yes, I know your determination never lets you down.”

“Then, can we agree on one thing?”

“What is it?”

“Can we agree to meet at our favorite diner once this is all over? I’ll tell you the whole thing, from start to finish… and I’ll keep no secrets. I know you, Bedivere. You’ve accepted me no matter what.”

That made Bedivere smile, as he looked out the window to see the skyscrapers obscure the view of the lake. “You must promise me that, at least.”

“I promise.”

“Then that’s all I want from you.”

Bedivere and Arthur chatted within relative quiet, talking about all the things he’d missed while wrapped up in the case. Some people were really meant to serve and protect in the  _ right meaning _ of the word, and Bedivere’s retirement was a loss for the CPD, but at the same time, the police department had a way of tainting the people inside of it. Arthur was lucky to know a few who hadn’t let that affect them, but he knew what would happen if he ever tried to rejoin and his secret got out.

There was no place for him among those people, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t support those he knew were his friends.

Bedivere eventually left, leaving Arthur to sit by his lonesome as he tested walking back and forth throughout the room, stopping when the strain became too much. As Nightingale said that the bullet missing was a miracle, he didn’t feel too much stress taking those first few steps. It was those damn stitches giving him pain, and he knew he’d face wrath from everyone involved if he managed to tear open even one. Therefore, he took small steps, which grew each passing day. Eventually, a few days after he predicted he’d be ‘all better’ (it was a hopeful estimate, of course), he was able to run and walk and tolerate the pain quite easily. He’d declined any more medication, knowing he’d have to get used to it sober, not hazy.

Still, those days of the week passed so slowly for Arthur, as Enkidu and Gilgamesh did their plotting and research. Eventually, the two of them came to Arthur with their discoveries right on the day that Arthur managed to reach his peak potential.

“He’s been directing a play at the Majestic Theater,” Gilgamesh pointed it out on a map, drawing his finger between it and the hideout they’d been at. “If we grab him on that night and have Enkidu return in his place, that would be our best bet.”

Arthur paused, “We still don’t know Moriarty’s schedule.”

“I plan to interrogate it out of Shakespeare,” Enkidu smartly responded. “There are rumors he’s only working for Moriarty out of bribery or extortion, so it might be easier than expected.”

“If you two are sure about this…” Arthur trailed off, but Gilgamesh and Enkidu never looked more certain. In fact, Arthur could tell they were most confident when working together.

“Arthur, you and I will stand by at the theater that evening. Enkidu will get backstage as one of the performers. Then, we’ll make our move.”

It sounded solid to Arthur.

“Let’s do it.”

\--

Gilgamesh and Arthur were dressed to the nines outside the theater, waiting for their tickets to be taken. Arthur briefly wondered if it’d be unusual to be seen like this, but Gilgamesh’s confidence had melted that all away. As he and Arthur entered the theater, he glanced toward the detective.

“Don’t get too comfortable watching the play, we’ll need to sneak in partway through the show.”

“Who do you take me for?” Arthur quipped back. “My mind is on one thing only.”

“Oh… is it? You’re not remembering one of our first dates here?”

It had completely slipped Arthur’s mind. “In the balcony…”

“Scandalous, I know. We’ll be returning there so that we have access to the employee’s only door. In the middle of the theater, we’ll be too easily caught.”

Arthur nodded, holding his side gently. The pain didn’t bother him nearly as much as the idea it might hamper him and make him fail, so he was determined to stick with it. The little booth had been bought out of all tickets so that it was only the two of them. Arthur was determined not to get sucked into the show, but… he knew Shakespeare had a reputation as one of the best playwrights in the states-- having come from the UK, just like him.

Still, nothing would distract him tonight.

As they settled in and pretended to pay attention, Gilgamesh carefully watched Enkidu, disguised as someone else, slip through the guards at the back of the stage. They had chosen to impersonate an actor who wouldn’t be playing tonight, and that person was safely knocked out at home with sleeping pills.

Partway through the show, Gilgamesh gripped Arthur’s arm, the signal to be moving behind the scenes. Watching for any ushers that could spot them at a second’s notice, the two slipped behind the confines of the employee’s only door and began to navigate the labyrinth of the shadowy set pieces behind the scenes of the stage.

Waiting as a woman in an outrageous costume passed them by, they waited for the signal from Enkidu to join them at a small room in the back with Shakespeare’s name on it. As soon as the coast was clear, Enkidu slipped in, making a perfect impersonation of the actor they were supposed to represent, getting him comfortable, right before signaling in Arthur and Gilgamesh.

At first, William was only focused on his script, tapping the keys of his typewriter and eloquently damning himself for writing a scene that would have fit better in the third act rather than the first, but he was a genius, by god, and with Andersen breathing down his neck he was sure to revise it before the end of the night. That was when he glanced up into the mirror and saw the two other men.

His expression went grave, worried, and smug all at once like he knew he had little control of the situation but was prepared to act it out nonetheless.

“The famous Arthur Pendragon. Last I recall, I had been tasked with sending flowers to the Chief of Police for your _apparently_ evitable demise.”

Arthur had no retort for it, and let Gilgamesh speak. “Oh, did you?”

“I did not. I suspected you might survive. The noble, crooked detective, the hero of his story, rebounding and recovering and throwing himself right back into trouble. Tell me, gentlemen, what are you going to do once I call Moriarty?”

“You won’t,” Enkidu said plainly. “We’ll make sure of that.”

“Oh, I don’t think the good detective can abide by murder.”

“I can’t--” Arthur shot Gilgamesh a look, who merely looked a little disappointed, despite his smirk. “We’re not going to do that.”

“We know you don’t associate with James Moriarty out of your own free will, so speak. Maybe we can get you away from him?”

“Away from him means out of the spotlight of the theater, and frankly, I’d rather die. But… I will say my fondness of the man comes and goes like the tides. I’m not exactly his favorite because I so willingly threw myself into his arms.”

“Into his arms…?” Arthur asked, confused.

“We’re lovers. Well. On and off again, mostly to his benefit and my morning regret, but that doesn’t mean I approve of what he does. It’s like he holds a rather nasty job I’d rather not get involved in, and he provides me with the writing material to make the stories I do.”

The shock on Arthur’s face was palpable, but William quickly followed it up with, “Oh, don’t give me that look. I know about you and Goldilocks over there, you should be the least surprised person in the room. Or is this your first time meeting a confirmed bachelor in the wild, outside of your home or his?”

“R… right.”

“So!” William folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “You want my help and you’re willing to beat it out of me. Let’s forgo the beating part, shall we? I know you want evidence of the girl’s innocence, and I’m happy to play the role of a double agent. Mostly because I know Moriarty is too fond of me to get rid of me, and because I’ve always wanted to be one.”

“... This is more cooperation than I expected,” Arthur was as completely unprepared as his voice betrayed.

“Think of it like this; I know Moriarty isn’t going to prison no matter what you find in his hideout. You’ll just be shifting the blame onto a ghost the police can’t catch, especially if Holmes can’t. Your sister goes free, everyone is happy.”

“Holmes…?”

“Another consulting detective, like yourself but far more competent. Really, I’m surprised you don’t know him-- then again, he doesn’t like showing up in the papers...”

Arthur could remember someone with a name that vaguely sounded like that, and a deerstalker hat to go with it, but couldn’t place the face. He thought at that moment he must look woefully inept, and William Shakespeare picked up on it.

“Always a bigger fish, Arthur. Keep up.”

William got up and out of his chair with a slight ‘oof’ and began to sort the papers of a would-be script. “I know, I know-- ‘why is an enemy helping us’? Because my relationship is complicated with Moriarty but my love for a good story is as straightforward as it gets. I want to see you succeed… without necessarily seeing Moriarty fail. A nice, grey ending for a world that’s currently too deep within a black and white spectrum. I’m not going to help you any more than this, by the way-- you’re on your own. But…  _ if you’ll let me _ , I can see myself visiting New York for a performance of my play, Romeo and Juliet, without letting him know.”

Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes. “Why so much cooperation?”

“Because I don’t  _ like to be dragged kicking and screaming or knocked out with a table leg. _ I’m a coward of the highest degree. And I’d like to give you the option of compliance rather than the ultimatum of force. Such violent delights have violent ends. What say you?”

“Just one thing…” Enkidu said.

William looked confused as they approached them, even more so when Enkidu took out a swatch of tape and used it to rip off a bit of his beard. Wincing and causing more of a fuss than the pain merited, he asked “What was that for?”

“I need the color to match the kind of wig I’ll need. Sorry.”

“Apologize before, not after! And warn me, for goodness’ sake!”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

William wilted slightly but sighed. He wanted to do this as painlessly as possible, and apparently, he couldn’t get away without a little hurt. “I’ll have you three escort me to the station. I assume those are the terms you won’t accept anything less than?”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I’m as much of a pain in Moriarty’s ass as he is in mine, let’s just say that.”

Gilgamesh laughed, and Arthur couldn’t help but blush at the pun. The famous playwright was  _ known _ for this, after all.

\--

Careful not to be seen, they arrived at Union station to buy a ticket for New York and see Shakespeare off on the last train for the evening. Wondering if they’d been conned to the highest degree, there was only one thing to do now.

  
“No time to waste,” Gilgamesh said, arrogantly assured. “Let’s investigate the hideout.  _ Before _ that train arrives in New York.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : A really graphic scene of Russian Roulette takes place in this chapter. I mean, I hate spoiling it, but also: it's worth mentioning.
> 
> Yan Qing is more modeled after his Shinjuku personality than the fun boi we know and love.

The most difficult part of the plan was having to split up. Trusting one another to get it done correctly wasn’t the problem, it was the variable of  _ chance, _ that which couldn’t be accounted for that would make or break this mission. While Enkidu seemed rather calm about the whole ordeal, Arthur couldn’t stop his heart from thundering.

He did, however, get to see Enkidu’s talent in action.

Dyeing wefts of hair to the exact right color. Makeup that accentuated features they didn’t have that Shakespeare did. After padding and adjusting and a whole lot of work later, Enkidu looked exactly like the man they’d attempted to threaten earlier, down to the height, down to the perfect application of his beard and mustache, and down to the clothes Shakespeare had so generously loaned them. What really shocked Arthur, though, was the shift in voice. He had been unprepared to hear Shakespeare’s dramatic tone come from Enkidu, who usually sounded so calm.

“Are we ready?” It felt so strange to hear Enkidu’s voice come from a carbon clone of Shakespeare, but he supposed he watched the transformation himself. It was entirely up to them to find evidence.

Ozymandias, ever helpful, had a rare treat for them; a map of Moriarty’s headquarters as drawn up by one of his defectors to Ozymandias’ group. It was sloppy, but it clearly noted the head office at the top of the building, which meant there would be loads of people to convince and get through. Arthur asked Enkidu if they could handle that much improv, because really… Shakespeare may have cooperated, but that short amount of time they spent talking to him? Was that really going to be enough?

Gilgamesh smirked at Arthur. “Watch a professional handle it.”

“We won’t be watching, is the thing…”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Gilgamesh mocked gently, Arthur quickly getting the picture that whatever miracle Enkidu typically worked, this one would be a cakewalk for them.

Being seen on that side of town was dangerous, so Arthur and Gil disguised themselves as well with tools from Enkidu’s kit-- but for them, it was nothing more than a pair of glasses and a wig each. They just needed to be not identifiable at a glance, not perfectly hidden. They got into a covert-looking car and drove off, deep into the part of the city where Arthur had previously thought there’d be no return.

Ozymandias’ club, the Cerulean Sphinx, had been his home for the past several weeks, but now-- now he had to move on, and wade into dangerous waters.

They parked just a few blocks short of his hideout, and “Shakespeare” got out and gave an 'OK' signal. Now it was entirely up to them.

\--

Having memorized the map, Enkidu decided to slip in through the back, giving a small wave to one of Moriarty’s men.

“Your play over already?” Asked a muscular man, rough-looking with more scars than one could count at a glance. “I thought you’d be there all night for the after-party.”

“Wouldn’t you know it? I forgot something last time I was here, and there’s someone who demands to see it-- a draft of one of my plays,” Enkidu effortlessly let the lie sink in, and while this man looked confused, he nodded.

“Sure. Where do you think it is?”

“Everything gets moved around and I doubt my things are treated with such importance that they stay respectfully in one spot. I’ll take a look around.”

Their mannerisms, their voice-- perfect. This rube didn’t suspect a thing.

“Where is he, tonight?”

“Who?”

“Your boss, of course.”

“He’s out laying some groundwork for a scheme he won’t tell most of us about. Surely you know--?”

“Feh. I only have half-secrets and partial truths. Nothing to assemble a full picture.”

“Right… well, good luck.”

The man turned his attention back to the radio, and Enkidu, satisfied with their performance, made a beeline for the elevator. Moriarty’s office would be on the fifth floor, the very top, and they expected Shakespeare to be the only one with clearance. Sure enough, the guards parted the way inside after Shakespeare cheerfully said he lost his manuscript and needed to find it. They were just too convincing.

Once inside, they made the conscious and very delicately touched effort to lock the door without the deadbolt making a loud clunking sound.

They had to act fast. Moriarty wasn’t stupid, either, they had to think unconventionally for where the evidence might be. A cursory glance over the desk bore nothing. It was immaculate, not a single paper out of sight. They guessed that the filing cabinets would be for older dealings, from the coat of dust on top of them. That left the drawers on the desk. Enkidu searched them, coming across one that was locked but the one above it had a panel at the bottom of it. Gently shifting it aside, they found papers on Olga Marie Animusphere, a file marked in her name, and correspondence between Moriarty and someone with the initials ‘Y.Q.’

\-- I set the trap as you asked. Fishing wire and twigs so they won’t look out of place at the crime scene. She should fall and it’ll be easy to gather the evidence once she’s gone. All you have to do is be there. -Y.Q.

Obviously, Moriarty’s correspondence in response was missing, but this was the ticket they needed. They just needed one more piece of evidence that tied Moriarty to the crime, but--

Footsteps approached quickly, a jingling of the key in the door. They shut the drawer exactly as they found it, stuck the paper deep inside their coat, and leaned on the front of the desk with a particularly sour look. When Moriarty opened the door, ‘Shakespeare’ spoke before they gave him the chance.

“All this time, and you still haven’t read my script!”

“William, what are you doing in my office?” Moriarty sounded tired. “I thought you had a play at the Majestic.”

“I did, and then  _ Marie Antoinette herself _ asked to look over my only copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in case she wanted a role-- a work in progress, mind you-- and I remembered I left it here for you to look over and nitpick. Obviously, I can’t let a lady of that importance wait for very long. Where is it? My script,  _ James _ , where is it?”

“Calm down, I never saw your bloody script. Odd of you to be so careless with your prized work.”

“I had hoped for your feedback…” Enkidu pretended to look confused, then shrugged it off. They’d gleaned this information from Shakespeare while they were in the car and idly wondered if it was a subtle hint to use to their advantage. “I shan’t keep a lady waiting. I’m heading back.”

“Hold on.”

James caught Enkidu’s wrist and spun them around to face him. Before they could step away, Moriarty’s glove was on their cheek, rubbing away some of the makeup.

“What have you done with him.”

Moriarty’s voice had never before sounded so dangerous, so chilling to the core-- not a request, a question, but a demand.

“...” Enkidu said nothing, trying to free themself from his grip, but Moriarty was deceptively strong for an old man.

“Answer me, and this will be painless. It might even be fun.”

“He went along with it,” Enkidu answered, their voice shifting back to normal. “Said he wouldn’t say a thing as long as he got to go to New York without a fuss. He’s on a train there, now.”

Moriarty sighed and let go of Enkidu, wandering his way around his desk and pouring himself a drink out of a crystal bottle into a whiskey glass. “He does this, you know. If I had a nickel for every time he did, I’d have… well, maybe fifty cents? Fifty-five? In either case, I have no idea who you are or why you are so blisteringly stupid enough to break into my office. Unfortunately, your disguise is very good.”

“...”

“All in the name of a good story, but he’s never nice enough for anyone to let me be the loser of the tale. I suppose he has his weaknesses, and I have mine. Now then--” Moriarty was quick to cut to the chase. “I had that dubious detective and his equally dubious lover brought in to my basement. They’re playing a game whether you get to live or die right now.”

“...!”

Enkidu could not, and would not abide by that. If they had to fight their way out of the room, they would do it, a hand slipping into their pocket for a knife they’d hidden. “What are you doing to them?”

“Nothing.”

Moriarty snickered, pouring a second glass and pushing it across the desk with the sound of it gently scraping the mahogany.

“Everything they’re doing, they’ll do to themselves.”

\--

It was that same color of copper-patina, that room. In front of a round table, Gilgamesh and Arthur sat, equally roughed up and cringing at their failures. They both refused to leave Enkidu behind, had been spotted and dragged out of their car despite their best efforts to fight them off-- and as soon as they thought they would get away, Arthur had been punched in his wound, getting Gilgamesh to cooperate as they were dragged in.

A single revolver sat in the middle of the table.

Yan Qing, a shirtless man with plenty of bravado, explained the rules, standing aside while Moriarty’s other men sat down. There were a few men at the back of the room, each armed with weapons of their own.

“Moriarty likes games, you see? So he’s actually going to give you two the chance to live. There are five of you at the table and two bullets in the chamber. All you have to do is score a ⅗ chance of not getting shot in one round of Russian Roulette. Try and cheat and we’ll put you down immediately.”

Arthur quickly realized the men sitting around them were not actually Moriarty’s men, but other prisoners he’d taken. Two men would die out of the five at the table. Arthur’s heart was thundering in his chest, absolutely threatening to break free. He was chained with one hand to the table, and he was certain-- absolutely certain-- he was going to die, but if they didn’t comply… who knew what would happen to Enkidu?

“Well? One of you, get started.”

A man in a dark brown suit picked up the gun, two spaces to Arthur’s right. “Moriarty’ll do worse to me if I don’t get that bullet,” He said. “Pray to god that I do.”

He pulled the trigger.

A loud shot rang out. The man got his wish-- skull fracturing into a thousand little pieces and blood splattering all over the other ‘players’. He’d been kind enough, in his last moments, to angle the shot away from the other players, so as the bullet ricocheted off the wall, it didn’t hit any of them in the process. Arthur was  _ horrified _ , shocked, and sickened as he watched grey matter leak onto the floor like  _ pus _ . He wished he could say he’d never seen a life ended so violently, but the experience was a painful teacher.

Gilgamesh winced, frowning deeply and gritting his teeth, but betrayed no more emotion than that. Yan Qing nonchalantly took the gun that had fallen from the man’s hand to the floor and passed it off to the next, who was practically in tears. Praying to God in a language Arthur couldn’t understand-- Latin?-- He put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

_ Click _ .

No shot. Yan Qing whistled. 

“You’re lucky today, aren’t you?” The man dropped the gun on the table and rubbed his hands on his face, shuddering and crying. Arthur couldn’t say anything. Now there were two blank shots left and one bullet in the chamber. The odds were terrifying, and even if he didn’t get shot-- that meant Gil… had a one in two chance of getting it.

“Please, not him…” Arthur whispered underneath his breath, picking up the gun. “Please, please, please… Me, not him...”

“Arthur,” Gilgamesh whispered, urgently and more terrified than he ever sounded in his life. “Arthur, no--”

He angled the gun down slightly, and away from Gil, towards the doorway.

“Ah, ah,” Yan Qing said, shaking a finger. “On your temple. No fun if you just shoot your jaw out.”

Arthur corrected himself and Gil put a hand on his arm. “Arthur,  _ PLEASE _ \--”

“ _ I love you _ ,” Arthur whispered. “So--”

He pulled the trigger.

_ Click. _

Nothing. Arthur’s hand was shaking so violently he thought he might pull the trigger again. “No, no no no no, NO--!”

“YOU MONGREL!” Gilgamesh shouted at him, ripping the gun from his hand. “What if you had died?! How arrogant, how selfish and  _ foolish  _ of you!”

“Gil, you can’t do it! You can’t!” Arthur begged, disregarding the threat if they didn’t. “If you die, I’ll die. I’ll die…!”

Gilgamesh’s eyes had reddened slightly, but he looked more angry than fearful. There was a one in two shot, sure, but the very thought of losing Enkidu was too much to risk it. He paused, thoughtfully for a moment as Arthur shook him and begged him not to, waiting to see if help would arrive at the last second.

When it didn’t, Gilgamesh put the gun to his head and fearlessly pulled the trigger.

_ Click. _

Nothing.

The last man sitting at the table was sobbing as Arthur was, too, holding onto Gilgamesh with the hand that wasn’t chained beneath the table.

“We’re even,” Gilgamesh said to him, “For making me watch you put a gun to your head and try and shoot, we’re even.”

Yan Qing looked boredly between them, before picking up the gun that had been sat on the table and looking over at the last guy.

“I guess it’d be cruel to make him shoot himself now, huh?”

Without warning, Yan Qing shot the last man dead. It was just Arthur, Gil, and the sobbing man to Arthur’s right.

Gilgamesh  _ scowled _ . “Now is when you say you’re going to kill us all despite winning, isn’t it?”

“Nope.” Yan Qing stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I mean, I did intend on bringing only one of you up there-- or leaving your corpses down on the floor if you both got really unlucky, but Moriarty doesn’t go back on his word. The fact that you lived… will probably serve as his entertainment for the rest of the week. If only we could’a filmed it.”

“Enkidu will be fine?”

“More or less.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, whatever Moriarty felt like doin’ to them, he’s probably done with. I can bring you both upstairs now. You, though--” He pointed to the man next to Arthur. “You still owe us a debt to be paid.”

Arthur was still shaking as the key to his cuff was unlocked. Gilgamesh practically pulled him up as they were walked to the elevator. All the way up to Moriarty’s office.

“My word,” Moriarty said, obviously surprised to see two survivors.”You really are lucky. I suppose Shakespeare will be pleased to hear the would-be protagonist he’s been so fond of survived… and he’s going to get an earful from me, too.”

Enkidu looked rough. Clearly, like they’d taken a beating, but Moriarty looked just as bad. Gilgamesh quickly rushed to their side, looking them over, making sure they were okay. No bleeding, just scrapping. Arthur, however, was much more deeply shaken than either of them.

“Well? What are you going to do with us?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar,” Gil spat. “What are you really going to do?”

“Do you think…” Moriarty said, firmly. “That little piece of paper I know your friend has is going to do anything to me? Do you think the police are going to arrest me? That I’ll face consequences? Sure, it’ll bail your little sister out, but I’m the bogeyman of this city. The cops fear me, run with me, and would rather follow me than run against me. I’m  _ rewarding you _ tonight for surviving a game without breaking the rules, by punching that little girl’s ‘get out of jail free’ card. For entertaining me, because that’s just what you are-- a little distraction that’s more fun than the telly. I would have loved to see one of you collapsed after witnessing the other’s forced suicide… but what can I say? Luck helped you, and so will I. But...”

Moriarty grabbed Gilgamesh by his collar. “Cross me again, touch what is mine with anything more than what you did to William, and I will have your heads in the most  _ Medieval  _ fashion I can muster. I know who you are, who you hang around, and where you live.”

He let go. “Show them to their car. Get them out of here.”

Arthur was practically non-responsive, but Gilgamesh grabbed him by the wrist and Enkidu by the shoulder and was quick to get them both out.

\--

Back at the Cerulean Sphinx, Arthur hadn’t said a thing. Gilgamesh was trying to get him to talk but to no dice. He was shell shocked, and even Ozymandias was taking pity on him. He tried putting a drink in Arthur’s hand, but he simply would not grip it.

“Arthur,” Gilgamesh said in a warning voice. “Get ahold of yourself.”

“...”

“Please, Arthur…”

Arthur looked up at him and quietly whispered. “I want to go home, now.”

“Is that safe?” Gilgamesh looked to Ozymandias. “I mean, won’t Moriarty--”

“From what you’ve told me…” Ozymandias began, putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “He has no intention of doing anything just now, just yet-- especially if we do nothing more to him. Arthur needs help-- desperately-- and I’m afraid all I’m qualified to give him is nothing that will help in the long run.” Ozymandias looked to Gil. “Take him home. And stay with him.”

“What about the evidence?”

“I’ll… handle it. You three have done enough tonight, so impressively as well. Adel will be out by morning, you have my word.”

With that, Gilgamesh pulled one of Arthur’s arms up and over his shoulder and carried him to his car.

\--

Arthur’s apartment was immaculately clean-- Arthur barely noticed it but thought to himself to thank Diarmuid for it whenever he saw him again, and getting involved with any mob so quickly would be too much too soon. He wanted to rest. He wanted to just-- sit and stare at Gilgamesh’s face and he wanted to make sure he never left. Lucy wove between Gil’s feet as he clicked his tongue at her, leading Arthur into the bedroom as she followed and hopped on the bed as Arthur laid down.

“You really let your apartment go, you know. I can’t be seen here.” Gilgamesh was trying-- key word-- to crack a joke, but it didn’t reach Arthur. “Can you at least get dressed for bed? I’ll join you.”

Arthur seemed to respond to that much as Lucy nuzzled his arm. He stripped out of his stained suit and put on a tank top with a soft, well-washed pair of pants. Gilgamesh rooted through his dresser for the same-- same height, the same build, so it wasn’t hard to fit in his clothes.

With the two of them lying in bed next to one another, Arthur could finally speak.

“I’m not sure if I’ll ever be the same after tonight,” He admitted. “When I heard the gun click, I was sure I’d lose you. That because I hadn’t taken a bullet, you would.”

“We don’t have to think about that…” Gilgamesh stared at the ceiling. “But I understand if you can’t stop.”

How could Gilgamesh be so unaffected? Maybe it was because he was ready to give his life for Enkidu no matter what. Arthur could admire that, but he couldn’t lose Gil. Maybe, instead, he just knew he’d live-- and it was pointless to think about what it’d be like if he died.

That kind of bravado, that faux immortality… had made Arthur fall in love with him in the first place.

“Never do that again,” Gilgamesh said, quietly. “If someone gives you a gun to aim at yourself, aim it at them. Never make me watch it again.”

“I promise if you promise the same.”

“Yeah,” Gil said quietly. “After tonight, I’m certain I can promise you that.”

Arthur wouldn’t sleep that night, and Gilgamesh didn’t expect him to. They would stare upward at the gently rotating fan, focusing on one blade of it until their eyes lost track, lost in the horror and closeness they were sharing. Arthur couldn’t live without him, and Gilgamesh, when faced with that distinct possibility, couldn’t bear to see it pass, either.

So to breathe and live in one another’s presence gave them more peace than anything else could.


	9. Chapter 9

Neither Gilgamesh nor Arthur could stay that way, though. They had to handle what came in the morning, and as Arthur numbly showered and changed into the last clean suit he had, word had finally come that Adel would be set free-- so long as Arthur gave a first-hand account of what happened the night they retrieved the evidence to the Police Chief himself. Apparently, Enkidu had handed over the note and what appeared to be remains of the trap that Yan Qing had set that night on the cliffside. What forensic testing they could do had to be done, but it was enough for Adel to come clean about what had really happened that night.

Arthur said nothing, and Gilgamesh quietly judged if he would be fit to talk about what happened that night. If he would say too much or too little in this state, but they didn’t have a choice. That was the ultimatum of what they were given-- Arthur’s word was strong enough to carry this case.

As Arthur was left off at the Police Station, Gilgamesh had to stay away. Feeling empty and alone again, all he had to do was give his testimony… to someone it would hurt to hear.

He barely paid attention to Agravain at the front desk and walked, almost distracted, to Lancelot’s office. Arthur pulled out the chair in front of his desk and sat down in it tiredly. Lancelot looked absolutely harried-- and  _ angry _ . The first time he’d seen Arthur in weeks and the man looked downright broken.

“What happened to you? Arthur, I want the truth! You disappeared on me for-- I was sure you were dead!”

Arthur untucked and lifted his shirt, showing off the bullet wound. “I almost was.”

Lancelot paused.

He then-- gently approached Arthur and put both hands on his shoulder. “What did you do?”

Arthur explained everything as un-incriminatingly as possible. Leaving out crime lords and replacing them with being on a friend’s couch as he recovered. He explained Gilgamesh without detail, but enough for Lancelot to guess who it was anyway-- he described a friend of theirs disguising themselves to go into Moriarty’s hideout for that crucial piece of evidence… and then he got to the part where they were caught, and had to play the game in the basement.

That was when Arthur’s throat went dry. “I… he made us play Russian Roulette.”

“?!”

“I played… lived. So did… my friend. Two others weren’t so lucky.”

“So we have another double homicide… Do you remember these men's names?”

“No… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should have been more professional at the moment.”

“Yes, Arthur! You should have! I know you’re a private detective, but this level of danger?” He shook him, gently but not too soft, either. “Do you think I wouldn’t have helped? Arthur, you were two bullet chambers away from death, and you didn’t think you could trust me?!”

“You’re bound by the law, I’m not,” Arthur said, quietly.

“We are  _ all bound by the law _ . You’re not a special exception. God, Arthur… you even got shot before that.”

Lancelot circled back around his desk and sat down, folding his hands and resting his forehead on them. “So you’ve confirmed that the culprit is either Moriarty or one of his men, this Y.Q. Miss Adel said she didn’t get a good view of the man who finished the job, but they did tell her this: That her brother was going to be blamed for her death, and that apparently made her want to lie and confess immediately, so she was brought to her home and effectively put on house arrest by his men. She’s still going to have to face trial, though-- she used a lot of police resources to lie to our faces to buy you time and still needs to testify when we bring in the right man, but I doubt she’ll get more than a community service sentence given her age and the nature of her situation. There’s no doubt she felt pressured into lying, too…”

“I have.”

“Arthur, for the love of God, take a break. We’ll handle this from here, but you need to recover with more than a stiff drink and some time off. I feel like you might need… help.”

That was an admission of weakness, and it made Arthur feel useless, but he nodded. He sure as hell wasn’t ready enough to come here, and he absolutely didn’t want to testify even further just yet. He just wanted some form of comfort, not the constant click, click, click of a gun not going off in his head, or seeing Gilgamesh pull the trigger every time he closed his eyes.

“You should stay at my place,” Lancelot said, quietly. “It’s safer. You have pets, don’t you?” He scratched the back of his neck. “Pack your bags and bring them. I don’t like the idea of that man knowing where you live-- at least, if you’re with me, you’ll be in a well-patrolled neighborhood, not in some seedy apartment downtown.”

It did feel safer. Arthur nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Standing up from his seat, he turned to leave before Lancelot tried to say something else to him, but words failed him. He merely told him to stay safe on the way home, passed him a spare key to his house, and told him to get comfortable. Arthur nodded.

On the way out of the police station, he could see officers escorting Adel to Gilgamesh’s car. When she saw Arthur, she immediately left the two men behind to run up to him. Lips pursed, clearly a very serious kind of girl, she held out her hand to shake his.

“You are… a very brave, very stupid man if my brother has told me the truth, but you’re the reason both of us are out and he and his friend are still alive. So… I owe you a bigger debt than I can ever repay. Thank you.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah, take care, Adel.”

Not wanting to interrupt the family reunion, Arthur flagged a cab despite Gilgamesh’s protests. He told him the plan, that he was going to Lancelot’s for a while, and Gilgamesh seemed… perturbed, almost angry. Arthur couldn’t muster the will to argue and got into the backseat of the car right before it sped off.

\--

Having spent the very last of his money on that taxi ride, he was surprised and frankly, relieved to find a suitcase full of cash waiting inside his apartment. Ozymandias’ cut, just like he promised him. Noting it would be incredibly suspect to walk this to the bank, Arthur made a few choices; he took some out for pocket money, delivered some as rent for the next several months (and past few) to his landlady, and stashed the rest of it beneath his bed. For the first time, his cat Oregano felt confident enough to rub his legs and jump on his shoulders, and Arthur, for the first time ever since last evening, felt the urge to smile-- if only weakly and a bit performatively, despite no one being around.

He put them into their little carriers and packed his clothes-- most of it needing to be washed, the very first thing he’d do once he arrived at Lancelot’s place. Tedious chore work sounded like fun, almost. A distraction. He cleaned out of his refrigerator the remains of the meal he tried to cook weeks ago, took out the trash, and tidied up as best he could. Only two more cab rides, now. One to the dry cleaner’s, and one, finally, to Lancelot’s house.

\--

The house was naturally empty, no visitors or family passing through today. Arthur let his cats out on the porch and let them get acquainted with the yard, knowing them to be well behaved enough to follow wherever he was close by. They wouldn’t go far.

Inside, Arthur hauled in his suitcase and set about doing something to thank Lancelot for the kind offer.

He looked inside his refrigerator… packed with food and take-out boxes that Arthur gently pushed aside to pull out fresh things. He’d make him something, his secret talent that made Arthur get pegged for more of a housewife than a husband. After checking through the ingredients at hand, it clicked for Arthur-- beef stroganoff. There was plenty to work with for it! Letting his mind drift off into nothing but measurements until it was time to chop the mushrooms.

It was just… the sound of chopping through them, hitting the board. Somehow, ‘chop’ became loud enough to be similar to ‘click’. Gritting his teeth, he wouldn’t let memories ruin something nice he was doing for a friend who had done so much to help and  _ forgive him for going so far _ .

Chop. Chop. Chop.

Click. Click. Click.

As soon as it was in the oven, Arthur sighed, walked over to the sink, and washed his face. He couldn’t let this affect him. If Gilgamesh could shrug it off, why couldn’t he…?!

At the very least, he could wash and hang his clothes and watch television or something. He could get his mind off of it, and yet, he felt nothing but betrayal as all he could think about was Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh being here and being alive right in front of his eyes. Going to the police station had been too soon to part from him, but he couldn’t very well go back, could he? What was even the chance that he was back at home? Could he call him?

Finding Lancelot’s phone and picking up the receiver, he dialed the number he was so familiar with.

At first, ringing and nothing. Arthur tried a second time, and this time, Adel picked up.

“Hello?”

“Adel? It’s Arthur.”

“Oh-- hold on,” Before he could say anything, she called for Gilgamesh and suddenly, he was on the other line.

“Arthur?”

What could he say? Other than it was a relief to hear his voice? That he needed to keep hearing his voice, but he was on house arrest and it’d be ridiculously impolite to keep calling him?

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Arthur admitted, finally. “I just… wanted to hear you talk.”

“Why are you at his place?”

“He made a convincing argument I couldn’t refuse,” Arthur answered honestly. Gilgamesh seemed to huff.

“Well, it’d be safe at my place, too…”

“Safer than a chief of police?”

“Tch. You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Gilgamesh sounded aggravated. “I don’t like… being apart from you right now. I don’t like it at all. You think you’re the only one affected, but--”

“I don’t,” Arthur said desperately. “I never assumed--”

“Just… stay safe. I’ll be by.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur said warningly. “It’s Lancelot we’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Gilgamesh sounded cocky. “The other man who’s in love with you? I shouldn’t come by because it’s him?”

Oof, the elephant in the room Arthur had tried so desperately to ignore was now showing its face. “You don’t know that, he’s been married, you know--” and now, Arthur started to get angry himself. “Besides, you never told me yet that you-- that you wanted to keep me, or that you’d stay in my life now that you’ve reappeared in it. You were all but telling me to fuck off at first. He’s been a loyal friend and you abandoned me for my safety-- at the worst possible moment, mind-- and wouldn’t tell me the truth until recently. Why shouldn’t I stay with him for a while?”

Gilgamesh paused on the other end, almost threatening to hang up, but this was the part where he had to meet Arthur halfway. Arthur, who had been doing all the work and giving all the love up until now, was finally fed up.

“Can I visit you?” He asked again, this time making it clear he was asking for permission and not saying he’d do it anyway to assert his authority.

“... I’ll tell you when it’s convenient to.”

There were a couple of moments of no response, like Gilgamesh was fighting with his own words and deciding what to say, before choosing to stake his claim. “I love you, Arthur. Don’t run into another man’s arms because you assume I don’t.”

Arthur sounded tired, like he’d finally reached the point where he’d been giving so much and now he just wanted to rest. “I… love you too. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that, not after all this. But he still is my dearest friend, remember that.”

“Of course.”

Arthur paused before hanging up the phone. “Gilgamesh?”

“Yes?”

“Be safe… we don’t know if this is really over yet.”

“I know. I’ll be on the lookout.”

With that, Arthur could finally hang up and try to relax.

\--

It wasn’t easy, though.

Each sound that creaked through the house made Arthur think someone was hiding within it, which while paranoia could be completely justifiable after what he’d been through, got tiring to investigate every time Arthur got up from reading his book to go investigate. After a while, he let his cat indoors and rested on the sofa while the TV blared some talk show in black and white. He rested his hand on his abdomen-- it still hurt. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t strained it. If he could help it, he’d prefer not to see a doctor about it, though Lancelot might make him do otherwise, just to be safe.

It was unbearable, though. He wished Lancelot were home if only to cut through the silence. He knew an interrogation waited for him when he did, and dredging up every memory of the past few weeks was going to be just as painful as it was going over it in his head. He could trust this man, they were partners… and Arthur still didn’t know if he even liked him that way or if it was just both his and Gilgamesh’s overactive imaginations.

When the door opened, Arthur shot up like someone had struck a gong. Relieved to see it was only Lancelot, the other man was all too perceptive when it came to noticing Arthur’s apparent stress.

“There was something I wanted to check out that I didn’t get to…” Lancelot said quietly, hanging up his coat and hat by the door. “Will you let me see your bullet wound?”

“Ah? Sure…”

Arthur lifted up his shirt and Lancelot pushed him back against the sofa so he could kneel beside it and check it out. The other man was ever delicate, having once been an EMT before taking his position with the police force. Though his prodding hurt, Arthur bore through it until Lancelot was satisfied with his examination.

“Any internal bleeding? Were you checked out thoroughly?”

“Yes, I was. No, no internal bleeding.”

“By who?”

“...”

“Arthur, tell me,” and Arthur couldn’t lie to those eyes, no.

“A woman named Florence Nightingale. Apparently a master surgeon.”

“I know of her,” Lancelot said tersely. “She’s an underground physician who won’t let any patient die on her. Mobs in Chicago hire that woman to repair their best men.” Lancelot looked at Arthur with the most strict eyes he’d ever given him. “Who were you working for, Arthur?”

“I was blackmailed into it. Well, not blackmailed, exactly… threatened with good intentions? But I was going to cover the case whether or not they paid me, so--”

“By who?”

“...”

“Ozymandias, right? He’s the only one invested enough in Gilgamesh to want to secure his safety.”

Arthur… didn’t know what to say. Lancelot sighed aggressively, standing up and running his hands through his hair, beginning to pace.

“You know I could bring you in for this, don’t you, Arthur? This means the evidence you’ve given me is corrupt. Invalid. I should have Adel brought back to the police station--”

“It’s the truth!” Arthur yelled. “I worked _ so hard _ to get the truth--”

“And you nearly died for it! Was it really worth it, Arthur?! Is loving that man… has it really paid off for you?! Getting blackmailed by the mob, getting shot, and being forced to nearly shoot yourself?! Anyone looking at you right now can tell you’re absolutely broken up by the entire thing, and for what? A man like that. A man who abandoned you after your sister died, and you know this! How long can you hold a candle for him?”

Arthur was stunned speechless, but knew to stand his ground. “I just try and do what’s right. I didn’t do it for any money. I didn’t do it to get in Gilgamesh’s good favor. I did it because it was right to do, and just because you have Animusphere breathing down your neck--”

“It couldn’t be less about Animusphere! I’m. Worried. About. You! Your selflessness has only hurt you, Arthur. I mean, you’re in my house right now, aren’t you? Didn’t you forgive me so easily after Guinevere?”

“I never wanted her… I just wanted to try, I wanted to--”

“I know  _ about you _ , Arthur, I know, but the very thought, still…”

“I could never hold it against you, or her. You loved her as long as you could, and…” Arthur paused, wanting to know the truth. “Now you’re in the same position I was, aren’t you?”

“...”

“...”

The room fell deathly silent. “I…”

“Should I really be here, Lancelot? Am I hurting myself, or am I hurting you?”

“... you are definitely hurting yourself,” Lancelot said with resolve. “I won’t mock you for your choices, or try to change them. I know who you are, but as your friend-- please, God, let me take care of you. Let me at least keep you here until you’re healed for good.”

Arthur couldn’t change that. No matter what he accused Lancelot of, the two of them were still the closest of friends. Sometimes, that came with trading painful truths. Lancelot loved him deeply, and Arthur loved him too, but there could be no mistaking it was in different ways.

“I made food,” Arthur said, tiredly. “I’m going to go sleep in your guest room. Oregano is still outside. Lucy came in an hour ago. Be sure to let him in, okay? And… I’m sorry. I don’t want to argue with you when all you want to do is protect me.”

“As long as you can let me do that, Arthur, I’ll live.”

Arthur nodded, and as much as he knew he’d get no rest trying to sleep in an empty room, he was going to do his damndest to try.

\--

It was the rain that knocked him out, eventually. He couldn't _not_ fall asleep quickly when it was raining.

His dreams were odd, but they weren’t dreams of gunshots or Gilgamesh, so he would manage with them. Every now and then, he’d wake up, clammy and sweaty, before falling back asleep. He’d left his clothes in the rain… so he’d have to wash them again and hang them back up to dry, but he couldn’t will his body to move to get out and do it. All he could do was get comfortable in the bed and wish someone else was in it.

Right, he needed to tell Gilgamesh when it’d be okay to come to visit him-- or rather when it’d be okay for Gilgamesh to come to pick him up. He wouldn’t dare invite him into the police chief’s home without his knowledge, and he knew he’d never get his permission. In the morning, when Lancelot had already left, he decided to use the phone.

Gilgamesh answered tiredly. Never a morning person, that one.

“Arthur…?”

“I…I’d like to come see you, now.”

“Sure, let me get dressed.”

Knowing the ordeal would take well over an hour, Arthur resigned himself to getting his laundry and making sure his cats were fed before waiting for him. He let them outside just when he noticed Gilgamesh pulling up to Lancelot’s house, per the address he’d given him. It looked like Adel had accompanied him, and was holding a map. Arthur smiled to himself-- Gilgamesh had never been very good with directions at times.

That smile didn’t go unnoticed, either. Gilgamesh looked… tired, but happy to see him. As Adel hopped into the back seat so Arthur could take shotgun, Gilgamesh looked back at his sister. 

“Do you think you can visit Dad today?”

“I hate… visiting him, and I’ll have a lot to explain… we both do.”

Gilgamesh winced. That’s right, sending her there would be like sending her to fend off a very angry would-be senator on her own. He couldn’t very well do that, or drop her off at Ozymandias’. Thankfully, before he could come up with another idea, she spoke.

“If it’s so you’ll have some privacy with Arthur, I’ll merely spend time in the kitchen with the TV on.”

Arthur turned a soft shade of pink. So she was privy to Gilgamesh’s life in that way? There really were no secrets between them. Gilgamesh coughed, said he would be fine with it, and asked Arthur if he left a note.

“Yeah, I did. Told him I might be gone for the night and not to worry, I’d call him.”

Gilgamesh backed out of the cul-de-sac and laughed. “Is he your mother now?”

“He worries, and that’s all the reason I need.”

\--

Back at Gilgamesh’s apartment, Adel followed through on her word and turned up the volume of the television by her brother’s kitchen and cracked open a book to read at the same time. Gilgamesh gave Arthur a slight nod and the two headed into his bedroom.

Already, the atmosphere felt less lonely and more welcoming, not just because of the familiar face. Gilgamesh’s apartment looked lived-in, even as neatly as it was kept. He hadn’t even made the bed that morning. Arthur gently rested his back on it, as opposed to flopping as one without a gunshot wound to the side might. Gilgamesh crawled into bed beside him.

“... I’m not sure getting intimate would--” Arthur began. Gilgamesh laughed.

“With my sister in the other room? God, no, Arthur, I have standards. It doesn’t mean I’m opposed to doing this, though…”

Gilgamesh lowered his head over Arthur’s, pressing a kiss to his lips and tilting his head up. It felt like sweet relief to the worry Arthur felt in the pit of his stomach, to have closeness and to feel Gilgamesh’s breath against his cheek. Arthur reached up to grab his shoulders, pulling him in closer and gripping him with warmth. Gilgamesh took advantage of Arthur’s preoccupation to touch the forming scar on his abdomen.

Arthur shot up with a start. “Jesus, what is everyone’s obsession with--”

“Just making sure you’re okay. Judging by my touch, it’s still sensitive, isn’t it?”

“You get shot and tell me it’s not sensitive. Goodness…”

Gilgamesh laughed, and it was soft and sweet. He lured Arthur back to the bed with another kiss to his temple, and the other man sighed with exhaustion. He loved Gilgamesh, he really did. Powerfully, as if anyone could ever doubt it now. For the time being, they just basked in each other’s presence, as if the previous night without the other had been too tense to spare any rest. Arthur didn’t even want to sleep. He just wanted to look at Gilgamesh and see that he was alive and fine, and he supposed it was some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder that made him feel that way, but still…

Still…

It was euphoric, in a way, just to be beside him after all they’d been through.

Gilgamesh climbed into Arthur’s arms without putting too much weight on him, and Arthur simply held him like that. There was no need to do anything more. Arthur would only detangle himself from him to go give the phone call he promised, only to fall right back into the other’s arms. He appreciated Adel’s sense of privacy, for that much. She must have known how much her brother needed to heal, too.

“Were you afraid, Gil?”

“...?”

“When you…”

“Of course, mongrel. But I had few other options. You know that, and you faced that decision yourself, as angry as it made me with you. You and I are kindred spirits, and I… have never been more glad to be alive with you.”

“The click of the gun won’t stop ringing in my head.”

Gilgamesh looked at him, and for once in his life, showed some vulnerability.

“As in mine, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh my god we're so close to the end. 13k more words to go!

Arthur couldn’t stay forever, though, and forwent sleeping over at Gilgamesh’s place to head back to Lancelot’s. Though he was happy to be in his presence, a lot of what Lancelot had said to him was weighing on his mind.

Did he really go too far for someone who might not have cared? No, it wasn’t about them not caring, it was about declaring their innocence… but Arthur  _ did go  _ too far. He got tangled in the mob, and like Lancelot said, that evidence might never have been valid in the first place. Even more so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that all of this wasn’t done with yet. Arthur had put himself into danger for someone he loved and knew loved him back, and that should have been enough to quiet his soul, but it wasn’t.

“It’s not like myself to doubt this much,” Arthur said quietly to himself as he unlocked the door, inviting himself inside as one of the cats slipped out by his feet. Lancelot was sitting inside on one of the leather sofas that lined his living room, and looked like he wanted to say something-- but ultimately, didn’t. He couldn’t pry Gilgamesh and Arthur apart, and it wasn’t for lack of trying.

He just wished…

In another world, if he could have had a happy life with both Guinevere and Arthur, every selfish desire of his would have been met, but his marriage had been tainted by the fact that Lancelot had always considered it a betrayal, even if Arthur had not. Not only that, Guinevere had found out his secret and didn’t take it well. He’d signed the divorce papers without a fight and found himself completely empty-handed, but even worse-- far worse than being alone, would be trying to force Arthur to love him back. The man was a natural romantic, and to him, the act of love, true love, required no reciprocation. Lancelot could love him and Arthur could love him back, if only as friends, and Lancelot would be content.

That was why he only worried that Gilgamesh was bad for Arthur in the same way smoking provided relief from stress but put tar in your lungs. Gilgamesh wouldn’t change for Arthur, but Arthur would bend the world for Gilgamesh.

Arthur sat next to him on the sofa, giving a soft ‘oof’ as he did so.

“Did the visit go well?”

“It did. I got to hang out with him and his sister,” Arthur relaxed and leaned on Lancelot. “He’s surprisingly tender with her. A bit of a bully, but the kind who doesn’t let anyone else do the same to her. I won’t leave after this, I just needed to see him for a night.”

“Mmhm,” Lancelot turned the page of the paper he was reading, before folding it and placing it to the side. “Arthur, can I ask you about Ozymandias?”

“... I suppose there are no secrets about that. Sure.”

“My men are working around the clock to secure information on him, and I have no doubt you won’t betray him. But… for him to help you, it doesn’t sound like he’s a pure villain, but I’ve definitely seen the aftermath of his work, and-- well, my perspective isn’t the same as yours.”

“...” Mobs weren’t pretty businesses where morally grey flew. Ozymandias might have focused on hurting other bad people instead of decent people, but he still hurt others, especially during his Prohibition days. “I know. Everyone has a different face they show people, but I don’t intend on taking jobs from him anymore. I don’t really… even want to see him again, as much as he’s done for me.”

“Did he pay you?”

Arthur winced. “Some. A lot of it went into Nightingale’s bills, though.”

Lancelot was at an impasse; Arthur was a crooked vigilante more than he was a private eye anymore. Could he really abide by that?

“You know, it’d be nice to have you back on the force, but you couldn’t help people like you do now. With no regard for the law.”

“Then I can’t join it again. But… I don’t intend on working for a while, anyway. I want to recover-- really recover, and then spend time with the people I care about.” Oregano hopped up on the sofa next to Arthur as he scratched his ears. “That includes you, you know?”

“I know you’re only telling me this because I’ll turn a blind eye to it, and that’s… very hard for me. You know how hard that is for me, don’t you?”

“I do, but we’ve known each other for so long… that… I know you trust that I’m always trying to do the right thing.”

“But if this ever gets out, I may not have a choice.”

“... I know. And if that happens, I’ll take responsibility for my actions.”

“...” Lancelot sounded… sad. He really wanted to believe he was bringing out the best in his job, and to not have Arthur by his side-- and furthermore, to see him flirt with the underbelly of the world, that was…

“Will you promise me something, Arthur?”

“Anything.”

“If he breaks your heart again, promise me you’ll learn your lesson and never go back to him. I’m not saying that so you’ll run into my arms, I’m saying that as a friend who loves and worries about you, to not sacrifice everything for someone who can apparently make the conscious choice to hurt you.”

Arthur paused. “... I can’t fall out of love with him on command.”

“I’m not saying you do. Living with a broken heart is easier than it looks, I just want you to protect yourself and not keep giving him the benefit of the doubt and the ability to keep breaking it.”

“... then, I promise. I’m not sure I could take it another time, anyway.” Despite Arthur saying it, he wasn’t sure if his heart was all in it.

“Good.”

Lancelot had seemed satisfied with that much.

\--

It just bothered Moriarty.

Sure, they won his game, and sure, games were only fun when you kept your word, and sure, William would absolutely be disappointed in him for cheating them out of their happy ending, but Moriarty didn’t like things tied up neatly in ribbons and bows. He had a target painted on his head for the sake of fairness, and that just wouldn’t do, but all good schemes needed to be thought out elegantly and precisely. With the evidence he handed over, it wouldn’t be as simple as erasing his involvement.

He needed to drag in Arthur by the heels as well. Arthur, who had doggedly pursued the truth since the beginning in the name of  _ love _ of all things and not the finer things in life. He could have extorted thousands from Ozymandias for all the work he’d done, but he was happy with his little romance returning to his life.

Things weren’t done between them, oh no.

Arthur had been all too calm the last time they met, probably due to shock. In any other situation, he was sure Arthur would have been at his throat.

After all, their mutual hatred began not too long ago at all.

\--

_ Artoria Pendragon was at the top of her game in the Private Eye agency she commanded with the help of her brother, Arthur. _

_ A veritable town hero, taking on the most dangerous cases and the most innocuous ones, finding lost pets for crying children and taking down beastly people who hid in the dark. She was responsible for many peoples' stints in prison, and the community around her was grateful for it. If Arthur was talented, Artoria was a savant of her career. A noble paragon of peace to uphold in a place as shady as Chicago. _

_ She was human, though. Rumored to have a lover in the form of a married woman named Irisviel, she kept her personal life quite private. Only Arthur knew the truth, a similar secret both siblings shared. They were each other’s keepers, close as close could be. Then, one day, Artoria got a call from a woman named Artemis. _

_ Her lover had been killed by a mysterious man involved in the mob. She was beside herself, saying that she would sooner die than see her beloved go without justice. Artoria couldn’t help but want to help her, but how far the rabbit hole went, Artoria didn’t know. She usually kept her cases close to common criminals, having the sense not to dip into mafia territory. Something about Artemis’ tears drove her to pursue who it was, and what a chase it had been. _

_ Several red herrings had driven her up the wall, bouncing from suspect to suspect, until she finally caught wind of who James Moriarty actually was, and she just wouldn’t leave it alone. _

_ He had to face justice for his crime, for murdering a woman’s husband and leaving her alone in the world. _

_ Only, that night when they met, Moriarty was in no mood for games. For Artoria, it was the night she’d brush with death and meet her demise, but for Moriarty, it was a day full of annoyances piled one after another, and Artoria couldn’t make his life harder if she were dead. _

_ So, at two AM in the middle of a snowy night, Artoria confronted him with her own gun in a deserted street, saying it was time to bring him to justice. Moriarty talked her into lowering her gun and going peacefully, confessing his remorse just before shooting her point-blank in the chest. _

_ Arthur had rushed to her side and tried to stop the bleeding, torn between running for the phone booth to call an ambulance and trying to apply pressure, but in the end, it didn’t matter. Artoria had died, Moriarty had disappeared, and Arthur would be burdened with grief and resentment for the rest of his life. Resentment for himself and the man that killed his sister, and grief for losing his one confidante. _

_ That was, perhaps, why Arthur was so dedicated to exonerating both Gilgamesh and his little sibling. He didn’t want to see another pair who were so close part again, even if it wasn’t by death. And, of course, he loved Gilgamesh with all of his heart, despite the heartbreak. There was simply no reconciling that. _

_ He would do everything he could in Artoria’s memory. Everything possible that could honor her, that could make him feel like the footsteps he took were in the same direction she would, but where she had always strived for justice, he had fallen from grace and into the seedy underworld of Chicago. _

_ He wasn’t bad, just crooked, broken, shattered, and pieced back together. Maybe that’s why he chased after a dream that made him happy like Gilgamesh instead of stability and a promise he’d always be loved. He was good at heart, and would always be pure, but his methods never spoke of honesty. Maybe he thought he didn’t deserve to be ‘good’ anymore’. Maybe he thought that part of him, so optimistic and naive, had been buried with Artoria. _

_ Would Gilgamesh accept him the way he was? Or would he grow tired of it? The man valued strength, plainly, but he also valued loyalty and sacrifice. Which one would he prefer over the other? _

Arthur slapped his face with water in the guest bathroom’s sink and tried to think about what to do next. Sure, he could spend his days in complete relaxation and flit between this house and Gilgamesh’s apartment, or he could stay here as he promised, or he could try and help the police find Moriarty. He’d already given written testimony on both his hideout’s location and its layout, but he knew it’d be an open slaughter if the police went. There were so many men there, armed to the teeth, and so many people in Moriarty’s pocket that it was impossible to tell who in the police station belonged to him.

Arthur washed his hands with plain soap and wondered what to make for Lancelot for dinner. He’d been cooking for the two of them, and it was the least he could do for letting him stay at his house. He’d even seen one of his children-- Mash, his oddly-named daughter, was as polite and kind as her father, even if she seemed to detest him. She was sweet to Arthur, though.

And yet… Arthur couldn’t get his mind off of Moriarty.

The man who’d tricked and killed his sister, who he only responded to numbly the last time he’d seen him. If he hadn’t just tried to shoot himself in the head, Arthur had no doubt he would have wrestled him to the floor and tried to kill him. It made him feel stupid for squandering revenge like that, but all of them would have been killed if he tried, anyway… so perhaps he could forgive himself for that much.

Still, even if leaving well enough alone was the best plan, Arthur still wanted to stop Moriarty with all of his heart.

Before committing to that, though, he realized he had a promise he had to keep.

\--

Bedivere looked at him somewhat suspiciously as Arthur sat down, wondering if he was still aching from his multiple wounds. The barely cushioned booth made it a little uncomfortable, but Arthur would manage. They were at their favorite diner together for breakfast, and even Lancelot had come with them. As all of them had been on the force at least once, they were naturally close friends.

Bedivere preferred tea over coffee, but both Arthur and Lancelot ordered the latter for themselves.

“How has Arthur been recovering?” He seemed to ask Lancelot that question, as if not trusting Arthur to give an honest answer about being  _ shot. _

“He’s been doing fine. If he’d done anything more than rest, he’d have to answer to me. Still, I think he moves around a bit too much…”

“Are we going to keep talking like I’m not here?” Arthur laughed.

“Ah-- sorry,” Bedivere seemed sheepish. “It’s just… you met the man who killed Artoria again and he made you do such-- awful things. I can’t imagine what’s going through your head now, Arthur, I really can’t.”

“To be honest,” Arthur responded, sipping his coffee, “I can’t either. It’s… flashes and visions of things gone wrong that I can’t quite control. I don’t want to see a doctor, I know it won’t do me any good. I just wish I had stopped him.”

“You can leave it to us, you know,” Lancelot responded quietly. Arthur shook his head.

“He started it with me. I should finish it.”

“So bullheaded…”

Bedivere seemed almost annoyed with Arthur. “What are you even planning to do? Storm his hideout again and get killed?”

“Obviously not, I just… want to get involved in the investigation again.”

“You’re a P.I., Arthur. You’re not on the force anymore, you don’t have access to this case safely. If you wanted to take him on, you’d have to go face him again, and--”

They all fell silent at that. They knew the unspoken words there, ‘it’ll end just like Artoria.’

“I’m not rejoining the force,” Arthur said, firmly. “It’s not who I am. I can… dig deeper, try to find out Moriarty’s next big heist, and see what he plans to do. Then, find a safe point to bring him in without anyone being put in danger.”

“You’re asking for a miracle, you know that, right? This isn’t like the picture shows where you can outrun guns and outsmart people who’ve been doing this far longer than you have.” As their food was placed in front of them, Bedivere leaned over towards Arthur. “You’re still recovering. Let the police handle it, please, Arthur. I know it’s revenge for you, but sometimes… that’s not the answer. Not at all.”

Arthur sighed. He couldn’t fight logic of that caliber. “Yeah... I know.”

Lancelot seemed relieved that Arthur fell off that subject so quickly. “You know, your friends can take care of you. Your losses are our own. We feel the same pain. We want to do what’s right as much as you do.”

Arthur thought--  _ Maybe, but I doubt you feel it the same way I do _ , but he wouldn’t discredit their feelings any more than he already had. If either of them had been shot on a wild goose chase of a case, he would make sure they stayed down until they could recover. He supposed he owed his friends the same courtesy that they would extend for him.

“How is... Gilgamesh?” Bedivere tested the waters quietly.

“He’s doing better than me, but I know he’s still rattled…”

“I see.”

“He said so, himself. I just…” Arthur tapped his fork against his plate before cutting into a runny, sunny-side-up egg with it. “I want to make sure he doesn’t think I can’t handle this. I don’t want him running off again thinking it’s for my safety.”

Lancelot and Bedivere exchanged Looks. The ‘I don’t like the guy my friend is in love with and wish he’d just move on but god help us if we ever tell him that’ look, but luckily, Arthur didn’t seem to notice.

“If he does, I’m going to make sure he never comes back to Chicago to do it again,” Bedivere said nonchalantly, completely open about protecting Arthur. A long time ago, Bedivere had been there for him during the aftermath of his disappearance, the slow conversion of Arthur’s little art studio back into a bare living room. The loss of his passion, the slow heartbreak he couldn’t hide.

“Bedi--”

“You would do the same for me. Rose-tinted glasses might be hard to take off, but if other people are looking at the situation without them, they can see quite clearly when someone is a bit of a--”

“Bedi!” Arthur exclaimed.

“I’m not going to tell you Gilgamesh is a great person. I know he isn’t, and I’m not going to lie to you. But if you trust him, and want to… stay with him, I won’t stop you.”

“You’ll just be silently judging?”

“A little.”

They fell into silence for a bit, eating their food and chatting about more idle things. People came into the diner and rang the bell above the door as they left, some sitting at the counter, some getting meals before work within the city. When it came time to split the bill, Bedivere waved them all off and decided to cover it for the three of them. It was the least he could do, he felt…

… and some part of him didn’t like the idea of Ozymandias’ money paying for his breakfast. Arthur could sense it, but nobody said it.

As they split up and Arthur and Lancelot started walking back to the metra, the two began to talk again.

“Promise me you’re not going to sneak out of the house to exact revenge or something like that, right?”

“I believe I already said something along those lines, Lancelot. Honestly.”

“Even if he tries to pick a fight with you?”

“...”

“Even if Moriarty provokes you from the shadows, you won’t take the bait? We have no idea what that man is thinking, but I doubt he feels very good about having a murder pinned on his head.”

“I’ll… I’ll make sure whenever I have to act, I’ll be ready.”

Lancelot just looked  _ tired _ , but at least Arthur wasn’t swearing a vengeance without the help of his friends. That would just be ridiculous at this point and a bit insulting, too. Still, he couldn’t stop him from pursuing his sister’s killer and the one who very nearly framed his ex-lover.

“I’m going to head back to the police station. Will you be fine on your own?” Lancelot asked.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

Lancelot patted his shoulder as they got on different metra trains. Arthur would take the long walk back to the house just blocks away from the train station, nestled into the wooded part of the suburb. He was happy to see his cat running up to him until he noticed a dead bird in its mouth, proudly dropped at his feet.

As Arthur nudged it away with his feet and picked up Oregano, he noticed something on the foot of Lancelot’s doorstep. A letter, in his name, no address.

Stamped with a wax seal.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *CHANTING* 40k 40k 40k! I CAN'T WAIT TO EDIT AND REVISE THIS MESS OF A FIC LMAO

Few things exist that are more foreboding than a letter with no address with one’s name on it,  _ and  _ superfluous enough to have a wax seal, but Arthur’s mind didn’t immediately go to ‘danger’. He remembered Adel’s penchant for wax seals in the modern-day, and immediately assumed it was from her.

He wasn’t an idiot, though-- he immediately checked the seal itself, which he recalled had a creature with horns spiraling out of their head. Sure enough, it matched the one from memory, and he opened it, wondering if Adel wrote him a long thank-you letter or if Gilgamesh used her stationary to leave him a little message. He found neither within the confines of the envelope.

Arthur,

I’m afraid to go to the police with any more

details, but I do have one last thing regarding

the case I need to tell you about. Meet me

at the cliff Olga Marie died at, I want to

go over some evidence.

Adel

Arthur sighed. Of course, this wasn’t done with. Did it have something to do with the person who finished Olga Marie off? Otherwise, the case was relatively open and shut with all the evidence they’d managed to gather. Still, ever interested in that one last gap of truth, Arthur pursued it with the intention of seeing everything to the end.

\--

She wasn’t there though.

Arthur had wandered around the scene of the crime enough to draw a few stares, but he hadn’t found anyone-- or anything-- worth mentioning. It wasn’t until a red car came speeding up to the side of the road so quickly that even he was wondering where the police was until he realized the person in that car was Gilgamesh and the first thing he did was grab Arthur by the arm and dragged him back into the car.

“What’s going on?!”

“Thank god you weren’t at Lancelot’s place,” Gilgamesh said, a bit harried, jamming his key into the ignition and firing it back up again. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

“What’s wrong? Didn’t Adel leave that letter for me?”

All it took was a glance behind the two of them to notice she was in the car with them and looking quite shaken while she was at it. Arthur looked to Gilgamesh for answers, but instead, he turned on the radio to a police alert.

“S _ uspect Arthur Pendragon is now at large for the murder of  _ …” The radio seemed to cut out. “ _ Along with Gilgamesh _ \--” Static, and finally, “ _ It’s believed the murders took place at a crime lord’s hideout, suspects claimed they were in a game of Russian roulette when an eyewitness said they killed two people point blank and used it as a cover story _ \--”

Arthur’s jaw hung open, looking to Gilgamesh and demanding what the everloving hell was going on.

“Moriarty’s men in the police force fabricated a witness and now he’s pinning the victims of the game on us. We need to get out of the state, out of the country now.”

Many things flashed through Arthur’s mind. All of Artoria’s things that were precious to him, his apartment, his pets-- he’d have to leave them all behind? “Gilgamesh, we’ll be able to talk this out. Lancelot’s my friend, he’ll--”

“Who do you think gave the order?”

Arthur’s blood ran cold.

“No… no, that’s impossible, not after believing me for so long--”

“Maybe he realized you were up to your neck in shady things and couldn’t give you the benefit of the doubt anymore. Maybe it came from someone he really trusted. I don’t know, but all I know is we need to get out of here.” As Gilgamesh pulled onto a road that would lead them out of Illinois and up into Wisconsin, Arthur pondered the remains of his life and what he would do now-- of course Moriarty wouldn’t have let him go after that game. How could he have been so stupid?

He looked back at Adel, who was frozen in her seat and near tears. Gilgamesh explained that he called Ozymandias for help, but there was nothing the other man could do. He’d shown up at his club with the address to his home, which he had safeguarded religiously. Moriarty was threatening him now too not to get involved, and he couldn’t risk his wife’s life. Gilgamesh was on his own, and he’d thought to save Arthur before going on the run.

“What’s the plan?” Arthur quickly realized there was no good, lawful way out of this. It was hell all the way down, and he could either choose his freedom knowing his own innocence or choose surrender and face life or death in prison.

“We should be fine in Canada. I have a contact there who can get us overseas. I’ll have to leave behind this car eventually, but we’ll be fine so long as we move faster than the news spreads.” Gilgamesh opened the glove compartment so Arthur could look inside-- three passports, all fake names. “Ozymandias’ last gift.”

“Thank god…” Arthur didn’t know how far he’d fallen, being grateful for all of this. At one point in his life, he’d trusted the system so much that he’d put his fate in its hands. Now, not so much. Not if he could be framed so easily for something that had shaken him, but this horrible incident had put him back into flight or fight mode. He finally could get the _ clicks _ out of his mind and focus on surviving.

He went back and forth with Gil over the plan, asked how Enkidu would manage-- Gilgamesh wore a bitter face and said they’d mutually decided it was best if they ran in opposite directions for now. They were heading south while Gilgamesh headed North. They’d be the first person questioned if the police got their hands on them, so they’d decided to rendezvous wherever Gilgamesh’s contact sent them.

“We’re headed to Europe, by the way.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his homeland after such disarray but nodded. “Do you think with all the chaos, we’ll be able to disappear there?”

“That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”

Then, they fell silent. Aside from Arthur occasionally professing his gratitude (and confusion) that Gilgamesh had managed to find him before the police, it was a long ride north, only stopping for gas at stations in the middle of nowhere, pressing forward without taking the time to sleep.

They kept turning on the radio, searching for some kind of clue to see if the news was catching up to them, but so far, it seemed so good. They could get through Wisconsin in ten hours, then the border…

But before that, they had to exchange his car for a new one.

A seedy used car salesman took one look at Gilgamesh’s beautiful red car and immediately thought of all the things they could buy reselling it. Gilgamesh said he’d just pick a car off the lot in return, and immediately, the man was suspicious… but greed won out over the desire to question them. Gilgamesh picked a car that wasn’t nearly as luxurious but only a few years old.

“Hopefully, this will get us where we need to go…”

“What if they catch up?”

“We’ve been driving all day,” Gilgamesh, by now, sounded tired-- no, absolutely exhausted. “All we have to do is get across the border and we’ll be fine.”

Arthur and Adel exchanged glances, then, she surprised them by speaking up. “What if I drive, Gil?”

“You’ve only been driving for a few years, not when people are after us--”

“You look like you’re about to pass out! Come on, please-- Arthur can’t drive, so…”

Gilgamesh couldn’t argue with her forever. In an effort to make the car look less crowded, Adel took the front seat and Arthur and Gilgamesh took the back. As long as the two of them kept an eye out without looking too suspicious…

As they drove off the lot, Adel followed the directions Arthur gave her out of the small Wisconsin town and on country roads heading back up north. As the wind surrounding them got chillier and the car’s heater began to kick in, all three wondered if they would make it-- but it wasn’t long before Adel got tired, as well. Eventually, they all made the decision to stop at a Motel and stay for the night. They were just at the border and could cross it when it was less busy in the morning.

So long as everything went fine.

\--

Lancelot could scarcely believe it himself, but there were numerous reports. One especially coming from a man who’d lived through the attacks. They said that a man gave them the choice of shooting another person or shooting themselves, and the two chose murder over suicide. They’d even examined the gun fired, and the blood on Arthur’s clothing that had been left in his apartment.

All the evidence pointed to him, and pressure mounted for him to issue a warrant of arrest.

He knew his people, though. Knew officers who’d passed the entry exam but never quite followed orders when it came to certain crimes. Let people get away too easily, or botched investigations in some ways but were flawless in others. Lancelot couldn’t get rid of them, because more would resurface, and they were all cheering the same thing:

Arthur had been suspicious since the beginning, and Lancelot was  _ covering for him _ .

It became apparent that his own badge was on the line if he didn’t listen to ‘evidence’, and could he really steer himself down the same path for Arthur that Arthur did for Gilgamesh? Besides, what if it really had been the truth? Arthur did look shaken when he entered his office. What if it was because…

Doubt did not suit him, but he had to press on and pursue this case until the very end. When he showed up at his own house with several cop cars, none of them found any evidence of Arthur at all. His cats, scared and confused, hid under the sofas when police-grade boots marched in, searching high and low. It was only when they found the wax-sealed envelope on the table that they knew where to look next.

And yet…

Lancelot wanted to give any order to look somewhere else, but a plucky young recruit snapped the letter out of his hand and said “he’s gone back to the first scene of the crime!” before Lancelot could say  _ anything _ . One of Moriarty’s, no doubt. He realized his department had become infested lately, with roaches in every corner pulling their own agendas, but was he really any better if he wasn’t willing to listen to evidence?

But this was Arthur they were talking about! Arthur wouldn’t hurt someone even if--

\-- if it meant his life, but just because he believed it, it didn’t mean his men would.

What could he do but pursue them and try to find out the truth for himself?

Tips would come in. A red car heading in all directions, but the most promising was a tip saying a group piled in a car was heading north, towards Wisconsin. He tried to get the word out as quickly as he could, with the demand that no one shoot-- they were only suspects, not convicted criminals. They had a warrant, but whatever you do, don’t  _ shoot _ .

Wisconsin wasn’t his division though, so he couldn’t control them. Instead, he got in his own cop car and decided to follow a hunch. Gilgamesh would probably be headed to leave the country if his name were ever damned in this way, and would he bring Arthur along with him? Or would he just have left him in Chicago, and he was just pursuing a wild goose chase?

No… Arthur would follow Gilgamesh whenever and wherever he needed him to go. As much as he hated to admit it, Gilgamesh was the love of Arthur’s life. He wouldn’t let him go again so easily.

So his car sped off up North, up the path he thought they might have followed, seeking the truth and answers to a murder he was forced to pursue.

\--

Moriarty was all too pleased with himself.

Of course, Arthur would have never been allowed to get away, not after insulting him by involving himself in his business. He’d taken the job to kill Olga Marie as an afterthought and pinned it on Gilgamesh because he’d annoyed him, recently, by winning at a private auction Moriarty had been bidding on. He supposed it might have been petty and wound up more trouble than it was worth, but he knew that police chief would follow Arthur doggedly to the ends of the earth until he had the truth, and from that point forward, his men could take it from there.

He’d just got done scolding Shakespeare for giving him such a headache over the phone, saying he handled his mess and he expected him back in Chicago as soon as possible when an unexpected visitor telephoned him.

“...? Holmes?”

“Moriarty. I bet you’re wondering how I got your number.”

“Not at all. If there’s ever been a sneakier rat than you, I’ve never met them. Of course, you would get your paws on it, speak.”

“What’s the reason for incriminating the private eye and his companion? We both know their alibies for the murder are true.”

“And how would you know?”

“I was there.”

Moriarty gritted his teeth. “You were there…?”

“Not in the room, but I heard enough. You were distracted, it was the perfect moment to slip into your hideout for some evidence… that I have right here with me now.”

“You took advantage of another Private Eye bungling his investigation to conduct your own. I must say, you surprise me at every turn. However, what makes you think I won’t do to you what I’ve just done to him?”

“We both know the answer to that, Moriarty. You’ve never been particularly good at making things stick to me.”

The more he spoke to him, the more jovially annoyed Moriarty got. “So you plan on clearing their names?”

“And putting you behind bars. Let us never forget my end goal.”

“An awfully stupid thing of you to do, calling me and telling me all about your plans. Now I can prepare. Perhaps, even take flight like those two lovebirds are doing--”

“I don’t think you will, Moriarty.”

“Why, pray tell?”

“Because you’ve stepped on some toes. The men you had shot that night… Those were men working for the Mad King.”

“...!”

“And I believe he’s at your doorstep, now. I’m merely warning you so that I can bring you to the courthouse, not the coroner’s office. Goodbye.”

By the sound of the doors breaking in downstairs and the immediate sound of gunfire and screaming, Sherlock had absolutely bamboozled him yet again, using the distraction another mafia would have provided to get the evidence he wanted. It was a wrench in his plans that stopped all the cogs from working perfectly, and now--

\-- now, he had to get the hell out of here.

\--

The motel was a crummy one, not at all fancy but not completely disgusting, either. Gilgamesh checked the room thoroughly for bugs or anything like it and was pleased to find it completely pest-free.

Adel was not so thorough, though. Immediately, she found herself collapsing on the bed and trying to fall asleep. Arthur looked at her fondly, forgetting his current predicament long enough to feel proud of her for driving so far and giving her brother the break he needed. Even as the entire area was being combed for them, she’d given her all to help.

Gilgamesh and Arthur fell back onto the same bed after locking the door. Both doubted they would get any rest tonight, but the effort would be put in regardless. The anxiety of being chased… it felt just as it would have been in the wild, like they were hapless hares running from the wolves that caught their scent. They just hoped the swapping of cars and the distance they’d covered would have been enough.

“Why did you take me along with you?” Arthur asked. “I’m sure it’s been nothing but trouble for you.”

“Because you’re involved now, Arthur. I can’t just leave you behind and do what I want anymore. I have to bring you… I can’t stand the idea of your sad little face behind bars. You’ve instilled such a weakness in me, bah.”

Even so, Arthur could tell he wasn’t really that angry. He was doing his best, wanting to make sure Arthur didn’t face the same scrutiny he did while in jail, but that was still… Arthur felt like he was shaming Artoria’s memory. Doing something that she would have never approved of, but Chicago was less homey than Arthur previously thought it was. It was a city that could turn on you in an instant if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Still, Arthur was grateful to Gilgamesh.

“My sad little face, huh? You really think I’d be so pitiful?”

“Absolutely. There’s nothing not pitiful about that look of yours when you feel like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.”

Arthur elbowed him. “Come on…”

Gilgamesh laughed. “You wouldn’t survive a minute in there, so what else could I do but play your savior? Still… it was good luck spotting you near that cliff, I was on my way to Lancelot’s house to come to get you. That might’ve been where they got us both.”

“Right-- Adel left me a letter, didn’t she?”

“No… of course not, why would she?”

“I got a letter with a stamp that looked like her seal.”

“...” Gilgamesh looked thoughtful for a minute before deciding it wasn’t worth thinking about. “Perhaps Moriarty sent it after stealing her seal. That way, he could guide the police right to you where it all began. I wonder if he planned on pinning that crime on you, as well?”

“That would have made no sense.”

“Think about it. You figured out the nature of the trap almost immediately. That might paint you as a little suspect for knowing how it worked.”

“...” Arthur didn’t respond right away. “I was just… grasping at straws trying to figure out how to save you. The only answer turned out to be the right one. I was lucky.”

“You absolutely were.” Gilgamesh was trying to speak quietly so that Adel could sleep. “But for a little while, I was luckier than you.”

“Why?”

“Because you devoted yourself to save me. It’s only a shame that it led us somewhere that would incriminate us both-- again.”

“... I hope he gets what’s coming to him.” Arthur could be speaking of no one else but Moriarty.

“I’m sure he will. You don’t last long in that business, personally speaking, before someone has it out for you. He’s just smart enough to have survived this long. It’s why I wish Ozymandias would quit, too.”

“He might. He has a wife to take care of, after all.”

“I feel like it’s the power that’s so sublime to him. He might not give it up after all.”

In the wake of this conversation, the two were debating on saying something to the other that wouldn’t quite make it out of their lips. Love confessions were awkward with a third party in the other room, and so were professions that one had always loved the other, no matter what happened.

“Do you think you’ll start painting again?” Gilgamesh asked, suddenly.

“Maybe.”

“Good. I’ll make sure you go down in history for something other than a murder you didn’t commit.”

“Right…” Arthur would have to think of a whole new alias after this. A new name that couldn’t be tied to his old identity. As the two of them laid awake, thinking, neither of them heard the car that was pulling up to the motel. After all, a lot of people would be stopping here. There was no reason to think anything special about the noise.

At least, not until their door was opened.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so close to fucking done you guys, then I can do proper research and revise and get my friend to beta this fic and make it actually good. Tomorrow I'll finish off the last chapter and Epilogue.
> 
> q: why didn't you do research beforehand you absolute goon
> 
> a: because I originally planned on writing a Babylonia AU for NaNoWriMo and then was like "wow I hate that idea because it'd make me have to replay Babylonia" so I wrote a Crime Noir without reading a Crime Noir in ages aside from a fanfiction that was really good

Moriarty wasn’t going to fall to the Mad King. The very notion was preposterous. Nobody got the name ‘mad’ without a reason-- Cu Chulainn was as crazy as they came. Someone who didn’t care about money or profits-- just _power_ , sheer and unadulterated. He could watch Chicago burn so long as he had the right to rule over its ashes, and Moriarty thought himself the type to be able to outsmart that kind of crazy.

The only problem was, it was rather unpredictable. He had a vague idea that the men he’d made play the roulette worked for Cu, and he thought sending one of them home in a body bag might send a message-- ‘playing rough with me is like playing with fire’, but he didn’t imagine the Mad King _cared_ enough about his lackeys to do anything about it. It was a gross miscalculation on his part to assume Cu wouldn’t want a reason to go raise hell. Moriarty guessed the men were just scapegoats to start a fight, and if so…

… well, he wouldn’t be caught in the middle of it. As he packed what was essential, he opened a window and hurried down the fire escape. Ah, his poor men! Being shot and mauled to death by a ravenous pack of wolves and their leader. Thankfully, he had enough in foreign bank accounts to start anew, and considered-- hmm, the tropics? With the exception of his adopted daughter, virtually everyone was disposable to him, but he never let them know that until the time of disposal, which was key to their loyalty.

Only his closest men would escape with him out the back of the parking lot behind his hideout, and as soon as one of those men opened the car door for him, that same man caught a bullet in the chest and collapsed.

Moriarty turned to face the Mad King.

“Ah, and here I thought you wouldn’t show your face. No self-respecting boss gets on the same field as their men in a gunfight.”

“Self-respecting or cowardly?” Cu responded evenly. Moriarty had drawn a gun on him, and Cu had done the same. The Mad King was absolutely covered in blood and viscera, looking as if he literally mowed through his men to get to Moriarty.

“Who did I kill who’s so important to you? Really, Cu, caring is not a good look on you.”

“Doesn’t matter who,” Cu wiped the blood off his chin like it was the remnants of a meal. “You don’t touch my things. You don’t torture my things. Chicago is not your land of make-believe and playtime. It’s my city.”

Moriarty was insulted that Cu would dare compare him to a child, but that didn’t mean he was going to act stupidly. A calm and rational demeanor was the only way to get out of this situation, but even then, you couldn’t talk it out with a bullet. More insulting was the insinuation that Cu was top dog— but of course, the bastard would think he was. Just because he was running with people who might as well have been wild animals, taking up the dirty jobs the other two bosses wouldn’t lower themselves to… he hadn’t truly amassed that much power while he wasn’t looking, had he?

No, that was impossible. But every second, Cu drew nearer, and it was just a matter of who shot first. A true western standoff.

“Go home, Cu. You’ve won for today.”

“We have different winning conditions.”

Moriarty fancied himself to be too smart for this job, perhaps better suited as a math professor while his heart was drawn to crime and the flashy lifestyle it brought, but sometimes those flashes were of gunfire and the people he thought would bleed for him would catch up to him in the name of those who’d avenge them. Intelligence could outwit power to live another day, but never prevent it from bringing down its hammer when completely insatiable.

And in that instant, Cu was more powerful than him.

Cu lunged at Moriarty and a gunshot rang out, but Moriarty’s gun clattered to the floor regardless of who— or what— it managed to shoot at.

\--

Several things flashed through Arthur’s head at that moment.

First, why was their door being opened when he was certain they locked it and even double-checked?

The second was ‘there could be no pleasant reason for that.’

As Arthur and Gilgamesh shot up from the bed, Adel too far asleep to have noticed, the person entering the room was a familiar face, but an unwelcome one nonetheless.

“Lancelot…” Arthur breathed out. “Are we surrounded?”

“No,” He responded, tensely. “It’s just me.”

“Good.”

It hadn’t come from Arthur, but Gilgamesh, who charged Lancelot and tried to pin him against the wall, but the other man was far stronger. He snatched Gilgamesh by the wrists in a typical police hold and pushed him against the wall instead, more instinct than intent. As Gilgamesh cursed him, Lancelot held him in place for a few minutes before letting go.

“I’m here for answers, you two. I haven’t quite decided if I want to bring you in.”

Arthur felt, among all other things, betrayed. Lancelot took the word of a police station he knew was infected over his own, and there could be nothing crueler than that. Even with mounting pressure, Lancelot could have focused on Moriarty instead, with all the information he’d given him.

“You _have_ your answers,” Arthur snapped. “And suddenly, they’re not good enough? You think I lied to you about something like that?”

“... Why did you run?”

“Because if you gave the order, that meant you no longer trusted me, and you don’t, do you?”

“... Did you shoot those two men?”

“No!” The exclamation came from both Arthur and Gilgamesh, but it was the other who spoke first. “Mongrel, you insult us. We went through hell to clear our names and we’re not done?”

“I can’t… help you anymore,” Lancelot said, intensity mounting in his voice. “Arthur, even if you didn’t kill anyone, you still ran with the mob to solve this case, and I can’t believe you’re so— _okay_ with that! Enough to run instead of standing to defend yourself. I… I tried to guide you and convince you of the right thing to do, but you keep throwing yourself to hell and back!”

“Lancelot…” Arthur’s voice was scarcely above a whisper when both he and Gilgamesh were surprised to hear Adel speak.

“Pathetic.”

It was a cold, cruel voice, one Arthur hadn’t heard out of her yet.

“You came here to bring us to justice for a crime you know we didn’t commit, for the sake of your badge,” Each moment she spoke, she grew angrier. “I spent time in jail for murder because you couldn’t do your job, you had to leave it to my brother and Arthur to do it for you. Where’s your so-called commitment to what you swore to protect? If you’ve really been so close to Arthur for so long, you would know instantly by looking at him that he would never pull the trigger on someone, and yet you still pursued us. And now you’re going to choose your paycheck over the lives of three people you helped fight to declare innocent. For what? You’re the damned Chief of Police, and you’re letting actual people in the mob’s pocket boss you around? Who are you working for?!”

Her voice was absolutely scalding as she approached him and stared up at him, glowering. “If you have any sense at all, you’ll head back to Chicago and claim you never saw us. Better yet, you’ll clear our names by getting the bastard who put you in this mess so we can come back. You _owe us_ that much.”

Arthur was speechless, but Gilgamesh looked as if he expected this from his little sister. Lancelot took a long time to gather himself before speaking again.

“I…”

The sound of other cars pulling up drew near. Moriarty’s men on the force had diligently followed him, but Lancelot left the motel room before they could search the grounds.

“Are they here?” He heard one man ask.

The three would-be criminals held their breath.

“No,” Lancelot answered, sounding grim. “I checked one room out, but it was just a family of three that resembled them. If they’re this close to the border now, they’ve likely long passed it. We should head back to Chicago to see if there’s any evidence we’ve missed to where they plan to go.”

At first, they seemed to agree, but one man— the man who had snatched the letter from Lancelot’s hand earlier, started walking towards the hotel room door. Arthur quickly locked it again, and the knob began to shake.

“I said there’s no one relevant in there,” Lancelot warned, but the man persisted. The knob shook so violently it must have threatened to break. Eventually, the police chief snatched his wrist and threatened him to stop annoying the family on the other side of the door.

There was a brief moment of silence before the man let go of the doorknob and Arthur exhaled a sigh of relief. They weren’t in the clear yet— Lancelot and “his” men needed to move out before they could safely leave the area. Arthur looked at Adel, impressed.

“I didn’t know you could be so persuasive.”

“She doesn’t look it, but she’s a natural leader,” Gilgamesh said haughtily.

“Stop it, both of you. I just told him what he needed to hear and what the both of you wanted to say,” Adel seemed a bit embarrassed by the remarks. Nonetheless, what Lancelot had brought up, even accidentally, was true; they needed to plan where they wanted to head next.

“We could easily disappear into Canada, but I have a feeling you’d prefer we head back to the states,” Arthur said quietly. The war hadn’t ended long ago, and a lot of the world was in the process of rebuilding, so traveling overseas had its pros and cons. Gilgamesh said that was perfect, though— they could seamlessly blend in with those taking refuge and get a new life there. Arthur… for all of his faith in Gilgamesh, seemed a bit lost at the suggestion.

“I don’t want to be anyone but Arthur Pendragon,” He said, finally.

“And I don’t want to change names either, but what are the chances we go back to Chicago and everything’s just all right now? Moriarty behind bars, our names cleared? We _have_ to move on.”

Arthur couldn’t argue with that. Once they were sure the police had left the Hotel area, the three turned in their key and piled into the car, making their way north through Minnesota and up to the Canadian border. The passports they were given were flawless in every way, a perfect parting gift from Ozymandias.

Arthur was suddenly struck with sadness and nostalgia for everything he left behind. His cats he’d likely never see again, the poor things. His apartment would be raided and emptied for the next tenant, all of his reminders of Artoria thrown in the trash… still, in this day and age, he had to count himself lucky. At least now… he was part of a family he could rely on.

“What will we do about money?” Arthur asked, suddenly. The roads they were driving through were slowly starting to become a snowscape in the last few miles.

“I have bank accounts overseas, so we should be fine once I can wire money properly, _and_ Ozymandias gave us another parting gift. A couple thousand Canadian dollars are in the suitcase I threw in the back.”

“… I suspected you packed clothes or something.”

“Oh, trust me, we’ll be needing some of those very soon.”

All three of them were feeling much colder now that they’d headed North, and it would only get chillier as they headed towards Ontario, where they’d meet a friend on the outskirts of the town of Hearst. Gilgamesh described him as a burly man who used to be a part of the New York mob scene but impressively, got out of it with a companion. Now he spent his days comfortably in a massive cabin of a home where his only worry was to chop down trees to keep the house heated.

They had stopped in a small town on the way there to buy clothes, and though Gilgamesh turned his nose up at most of them for being not designer, they were certainly warm enough for a cluster of Americans not used to the weather. Gilgamesh was starting to wonder if the car they’d picked out from the lot would last them much longer. As the roads grew more dangerous and the stretch between them ever longer, they kept a close watch on the gas meter and a closer one on the roads.

After what felt like an eternity of driving, they arrived, following directions laid out carefully on the map. Gilgamesh’s contact was supposed to be able to get them through Canada discreetly, he just hoped that it would be enough. Then, they could decide on where to go-- south, back to New York, or staying within Canada’s safe borders if and until they ever heard word they weren’t on Chicago’s wanted list.

—

Fergus mac Roich was busily shoveling snow off of his porch when he saw their car pull up to his driveway. He hadn’t expected them so soon… still, he and Boudica didn’t have many guests and were thrilled for the company. As the two men shivered and piled out of the car, Adel held herself with much more dignity than the two of them, only rubbing her hands together for warmth.

Fergus clapped his hand on Gilgamesh’s back a little too hard. “I’m amazed you managed to get here in a car like that! How did you not skid off the road completely?”

“We did, actually…” Arthur admitted. “A couple of times…”

“Doesn’t matter! Come in, you all look like this is your first winter in Canada! Boudica—” He called out into the house. “We got our guests!”

If a smile could warm anyone up, Boudica’s was certainly very close. She was a gorgeous redheaded woman dressed modestly, opening the door for the trio to come in. The difference was night and day— the heat inside the house made all the difference. Fergus told the story of how he met Boudica in New York— she was on the warpath, aiming for a mob boss’s daughter named Nero, and the two met during a bar fight. Though Fergus left out what exactly this Nero did to Boudica, one could tell it was enough to bring a fiery glint back to her eye, if only momentarily. They had been inseparable ever since, partners in crime, and then married after retiring.

Arthur noticed with some trepidation that they had a daughter peeking around the corner, looking at the three of them suspiciously.

“Jack, it’s not nice to stare,” Boudica reminded her. Jack didn’t stop.

“Are these people from daddy’s work?”

“No, sweetie. You can calm down.”

Jack wasn’t their biological daughter— rather, a girl who’d been rescued from a terrible circumstance wrapped up in with the mob, now viciously guarded and protected by her two parents. She was still cautious about anyone who could hurt her new family, and Arthur and Gilgamesh knew not to pry why.

As Arthur warmed his hands by the fire and Fergus and Gilgamesh talked business, he couldn’t help but let his attention drift to Adel, who was taking this rather well, despite being a well-to-do young woman suddenly being uprooted for the sake of an accusation she might not be able to outrun. Arthur sat next to her and quietly began to talk.

“Are you sure you want to do all of this? I understand it’s hard to give up on everything and move— I… know you probably didn’t want this any more than Gilgamesh or I did, but—”

“I’ll follow my brother anywhere. We might only be half-siblings but he’s always had the notion of… ‘you’re my blood, so be respectable and reflect well on me.’ He helped raise me, so I owe him a lot. Even if it means leaving everything behind, or means taking the blame for a crime, I’d do it all.”

“What was living with him like? Growing up.”

“Well… when we were really young, he would tease me in front of all of his friends, but one day, a friend of his pulled my hair and he beat the snot out of them. Said that only siblings have the right to tease their kin. He got better about it though… started showing me the finer things in life as he got involved in New York, and he was always proud of me. In a family as cold as ours… it made a difference. That’s why I was so willing to take the blame.”

Arthur could relate; Artoria had been much of the same to him, without the teasing. As his numbingly cold hands started to warm up, he asked Gilgamesh where they were planning on heading next— with Fergus’ directions, they’d find safe passage-- not that it was particularly hard to avoid capture here. Whether they’d find a place to stay comfortably in Canada until the heat died down or even head back south from there into New York, they’d come to make that decision when they got there.

Arthur never thought he’d yearn for his old home this way, but they had all made sacrifices to get this far. As day turned to night, they squeezed into the one extra bedroom, piled with quilts and pillows. Adel took the bed while Arthur and Gilgamesh (begrudgingly, that one) took the floor.

“I keep expecting someone to catch up to us,” Arthur said quietly. “We keep coming so close. I’m not sure what I’ll do if we involved this family in our problems and get them in trouble. I …”

“Worrying about things tends to make them manifest. I would calm down, for one. Second, Adel can hear you. Do you think you should worry my little sister? Hm?”

Right. He had to be strong, if not for himself, then for the people around him.

“… I think I want to head to New York,” Arthur whispered.

“Living a bit dangerously, are we?”

“If we could get Ozymandias’ men to gather a few of our things and ship them there, I mean— it would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it? You’ve lived there before, you have connections. It’d be safe.”

“… it’s true, I considered it. And I don’t want to live out in the middle of nowhere up here,” Gilgamesh had an all-too-stuffy outlook on roughing it. He demanded luxury, and whether it be a city in Canada or heading back to the states, he’d get it.

“I don’t want to get Ozymandias involved anymore, though, he’s done so much for us.”

“Tch. That man has taken advantage of my connections many times. He’s owed me for more than just this.”

The two fell silent, knowing that at least one other person in the room was trying to sleep and they best should, too. Everything was a mystery, now; how they’d live their lives, if their names would ever be cleared, if there was something they could do about all of this. If it really was right to run away… or if it would have been better to hide there and wait for the truth to come out, but the truth was obscured by a man pulling many strings, too big for one person to take down because they’d always be replaced by another.

Arthur believed in Lancelot, even if he felt hurt by him. No matter what, he’d weed out the infection festering in his precinct, and he’d arrive at the truth of the situation— which was as grey as rain on a Sunday afternoon. Arthur suddenly realized that just because he pursued the path of his sister, maybe he was never cut out for it in the first place. Maybe he was meant to follow his heart, not clues of a case.

Maybe that’s what she would have wanted for him, too.


	13. Chapter 13

It was decided when the morning came and Gilgamesh had endured enough of the cold; they would be going to New York.

It wasn’t hard for Fergus to call in a few favors to get them situated. An upscale downtown apartment where rent would be paid to someone who owed him a favor and wouldn’t rat out the fact that a wanted trio was living there. They could stay safe in the midst of a manhunt and live comfortably while they were at it. Arthur entertained ideas of fleeing back to Europe, but Gilgamesh reassured him that nothing so drastic was needed. Besides, they needed to stay close enough to the situation to assess how it would go. If things got so serious that the NYPD got involved, they could move on again— this time further, this time somewhere more permanent.

Thanking the couple for letting them stay the night, they pried open the near-frozen doors of their car and let it heat for several minutes. They debated, for the sake of time and safety, whether to take the train or risk the roads. In the end, they gifted the mac Roichs with the (mostly) new car and decided to head for the train station. There was no telling what the roads would be like, and in Gilgamesh’s error, he hadn’t quite accounted for driving icy roads for increasingly long stretches. He was more than a bit miffed he no longer had that gorgeous red Cadillac, but he reasoned with Arthur at the train station that he could always buy a new one.

“Just how much money do you have?” Arthur asked, somewhat annoyed at his bragging.

“Enough to keep me afloat through an incident like this and also, for the rest of my life and then some. Enough to throw away a car _I really liked_.”

“I don’t recall you ever spoiling me when we were courting,” Arthur quipped back.

“You wouldn’t allow it! I’d see you fawn over a suit in the window of a department store and then you’d get all modest when it came time for me to buy it. Said it was too much, that you’d buy it on your next paycheck— you never did, by the by…”

The fond memories warmed Arthur up a bit as the train pulled into the station. They handed off the tickets they’d purchased and one by one, squeezed into the roomette reserved for them. Their only luggage, Gil’s suitcase full of cash and a few small bags of Adel’s were the only things that accompanied them. The land shifted from snowy pastures to wooded forests to fresh green fields beginning to feel the frost of late November. It wasn’t a straight shot to New York— they’d have to get on and off several different trains for that, but after losing sleep and sitting in railway stations for their next train, they finally made it to New York.

—

The apartment was a grand thing; from the moment Arthur walked in and saw that a chandelier hung from the dining room ( _it was big enough for a dining room_ , he thought, amazed) he knew he’d be living somewhere much nicer than his old home.

And yet, he couldn’t help but miss it.

Lucy and Oregano had been somewhat constant companions through the years, and though Gil joked that he could pry any stray off the street and name them after a herb and call it a day, it was clear that Arthur missed them, and Arthur rarely asked Gil for anything, so it seemed a few more favor-like strings needed to be pulled.

Once they had settled into the apartment, Gilgamesh discreetly made a phone call to Ozymandias’ private home phone.

“Hey—”

“Haven’t heard from you in quite a bit,” Ozymandias recognized his voice immediately. “I _might’ve_ been a little concerned you got caught. Where are you now? The operator didn’t say it was a call from overseas, so…”

“New York.”

“Then do I have some fantastic news for you.”

Ozymandias told him about Moriarty’s straight-up disappearance from Chicago’s underbelly. His entire chain of command was in disarray without him, and apparently, there had been a massacre at his hideout, but he wasn’t counted among the dead. While he was cheerfully telling Gilgamesh about how he might be able to come back soon, after all, Gil cut him off, if only briefly.

“That requires us to be cleared of the charges. Unfortunately, with Moriarty gone… I don’t see that happening anytime soon. We’d need nothing short of his confession.”

“I see… so I assumed you called because you needed a favor done, right?”

“Do you think you can have someone raid Arthur’s apartment for sentimental things? Someone who knew him and Artoria well, I know you at least have Diarmuid. It doesn’t have to be the whole apartment. Oh, and if you could find his pets…”

“You’ll never stop asking me for favors, will you?”

“Please. Now that I’m back in New York, I fully plan on being used as your emissary again. Think of this as pre-payment for my services.”

True, Ozymandias could use him… and this was such a trivial favor, anyway. Within a week’s time, a package showed up at their doorstep. Photos, the suitcase Arthur stashed beneath his bed, boxes of memories and things Arthur knew had been picked out by a caring hand. The second thing to arrive on their doorstep was a little cat carrier and a seal-point furry thing meowing to be let out.

“Lucy…?” Arthur asked, unlatching the cage and letting her roam into the apartment, but not before crying and nuzzling him. “How did they find you—?”

“She must have been around Lancelot’s place. I told them to find both of them, but maybe that wasn’t possible…” Gilgamesh said, leaning on the doorway, judging the cat. “At least you have one now.”

Arthur said nothing and instead embraced him, thanking him for going so far to secure his memories. When Gilgamesh asked Arthur what he wanted next, professing that he wanted to spoil him and get him used to his new home, Arthur thought for a bit before smiling.

“Can we turn the spare bedroom into a studio? I’d like to paint again.”

—

It was like riding a bicycle. You never truly forgot the strokes, the little things you paid attention to while making details just right. It was easy to fall out of practice, sure, but Arthur had enjoyed painting, loved it, because it meant he could show something he created in the name of someone he loved. No more pursuing clues, no more trying to divide the concept of justice into something that suited his lifestyle. No more complicated bits of red string choking him and pulling him down.

He had the man he loved within a family he cared about, and he had the gentle strokes of a paintbrush, and that should have been enough.

But he couldn’t forget about Lancelot.

Lancelot, who had looked so broken after Adel demanded that he return to Chicago, who had gone out of their way to make sure no one saw them flee. He risked his badge in that moment, and Arthur appreciated it even if Gilgamesh and Adel didn’t. It took a lot of conviction to believe a friend’s word over your colleagues, even if you were sure their perspective was poisoned. It was risking his livelihood, something he’d worked so hard to secure and protect.

Despite everything, he was still his best friend who wanted the most for him. He had lamented watching Arthur walk down this path of self-destruction in the name of love and even if everything turned out okay in the end, there was still a lot— a LOT to be done, and the first thing he wanted to do was tie things up with Lancelot— neatly or messily, but first, he had to be sure it was safe to do so. It broke his heart that he had to mistrust him first in order to trust him, but when Arthur pulled on his coat to go wander his neighborhood for a phone booth, Gilgamesh stopped him.

“… You’re sure you want to do this?”

“More than anything. I’m sorry, Gil.”

“You could risk everything, you know,” Gilgamesh looked him over, tapping his finger on his crossed arms. “We’ve let it fester for long enough that he might want revenge. He might come all the way here to settle the score with you, and you’re sure?”

“You could never leave Enkidu behind, right? So I can’t with Lancelot. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

White snow blanketed the area, turning into gray mush where the curb met the road. January in New York was beautiful, if noisy, and he’d quickly understood why Gilgamesh loved the city that much more than Chicago— or maybe… maybe his old town was too full of memories that Arthur couldn’t deal with, a pit of one farewell too many. At this time of night, he wasn’t sure if Lancelot would answer, but he certainly had to try.

Dialing the number he felt had become so ingrained in his mind, it took a minute for the operator to connect them.

“Hello?” The voice on the other line sounded sleepy.

“Lancelot?”

Immediately, not so anymore. “Arthur, where are you? Where have you been?”

“Invisible, for the most part. Trying to adjust to life like this. I just wanted to say, I— I know you never wanted it to turn out like this, and what Adel told you, well, it was a little unfair—”

“No,” Lancelot answered. “If I had let you get caught there, I would have never forgiven myself. They really tried, you know? The men in my precinct tried to make it stick to you guys. Said that fleeing was an admission of guilt, but the funniest thing has happened since you left, Arthur… Moriarty’s gone. Disappeared.”

“I know.”

“…? Then why haven’t you come back?”

Arthur sighed. “Because that didn’t make the charges vanish, did it?”

“It’s true I’d have to bring you in for questioning, but the funny thing is about Moriarty disappearing is that it suddenly became a lot easier to clear his men out of my precinct. I’m relatively certain I have control of it now. And… I don’t believe you did it. I know I doubted you, and that was awful of me, but you would sooner turn a gun on yourself than someone else. And I believe you did just that.”

“… I’m glad to hear it from you. I… want to meet you again. Unfortunately, not to be questioned. Just to talk. To… hear from you again, if I can have that much, I’ll be content.”

“In Chicago?”

“How about you meet me halfway? Somewhere in Ohio.”

“I can agree with that.”

The two talked for a little while longer, but not much. Arthur had so much he wanted to save saying in person, and he sensed Lancelot did too. When he headed back up to their apartment, he dusted off the snow from his jacket and made a beeline for his art studio. Inspiration had struck, and rarely would he squander it, even deep into the night.

His studio was covered in plastic, mostly to avoid dripping paint on the floors (or there would be hell to pay, threatened their landlord), and his easel held one blank canvas, the very thing he’d been staring at the past few days to try and summon up inspiration. He’d have a month before he met Lancelot. Quickly, he began mixing paint on his palette and started with the very first stroke on the canvas. Gilgamesh watched him from the doorway, knowing that Arthur wouldn’t join him in bed tonight, most likely— he’d greet him in the dawn hours of the morning, sleepless and nearly drinking coffee from his paint mug or vice-versa. 

But, he’d make careful steps into his studio and look at the canvas Arthur had been slaving over all night, and make a quiet impressed sound. Arthur had a talent for it, that he often downplayed in favor of mentioning it was much easier for him to cook, but one thing was for certain; it wasn’t squandered. He looked through the paintings surrounding the room and thought ‘It’d be nice if we could get an art show going for him’. One of Gilgamesh’s big regrets was never appearing for Arthur’s last one. Hopefully, it wouldn’t _really_ be the last.

As Arthur returned to the painting, day in and day out, loading the canvas with so much paint it almost felt thicker than the canvas itself. One day, he finally stood back and took a look at the painting with pride. It was finished, but for a few details that he’d handle once it had dried. Gilgamesh clicked his tongue.

“To think, you’re saving this for him and not me.”

“I have a whole lifetime to paint you as many as you want. This one… might be the last time I see him.”

“I see. Then you’ve certainly hit the mark with this.”

Arthur kissed his cheek, proud to have such support. In the next coming weeks, he’d have to brace to see his friend again, but he was certain this painting would be a perfect gift to remind him that he still… cared, and wished to be in his life, even if that wasn’t possible.

Now it was just time to wait.

—

The little diner in Jackson, Ohio felt much cleaner, much nicer than the ones in either city he’d been to. It must have been newly installed, with a lot of work put into it. With a black canvas bag at his side, he took a seat, ordered nothing, and waited for his friend to arrive.

He knew it could take hours, but he was prepared to wait. Luckily, Lancelot was right on schedule.

Though it had only been a few months, the man looked like he had aged considerably. The lines beneath his eyes were more pronounced than before. Arthur wondered, with a little guilt, if it had been his fault, but maybe the two of them were just growing old. Gilgamesh even complained about shadows beneath his eyes these days, but Arthur was also certain that Lancelot’s job was an endless source of stress. It ached to see him like this, but Arthur wasn’t about to let that get in the way of standing up to hug him.

The hug lingered for a few moments, tight and melancholy before they realized they were drawing the stares of the patrons and took a seat in the diner booth. Arthur finally ordered something to drink, as did Lancelot.

“So…” Arthur began, but Lancelot spoke the first question.

“Are you happy?”

“…” He couldn’t help but feel put on the spot with a question like that. It almost felt accusatory, if not for the gentle tone of his voice. “… yes, I’ve been enjoying myself in New York, but it looks like you haven’t been doing much of the same. Lancelot, you look so tired.”

“It’s been a lot of work, cleaning up my city, but I still wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s my life, now— oh, I completely forgot to mention, but your cat, Oregano—”

“If he keeps you company, you can keep him,” Arthur responded evenly. If Lancelot had him for this long, he wouldn’t want to tear the two of them apart. Lancelot paused before responding, but in his voice, Arthur could tell he sounded a little grateful.

“Right. Yes, that was what I… thank you.”

(Lancelot had gotten closer to the skittish creature than Arthur ever had before, which was a mark of pride for him. He warmed his bed and kept him company.)

“So how is Chicago in a post-Moriarty sense?”

“It’s… different. Cu Chulainn is the biggest leader now, and dealing with him is its own headache. He’s a lot more heavy-handed, but he doesn’t seem to be the calculated mastermind Moriarty was, with his irons in every fire. It’s certainly its own mess, but I… well, I find it easier to deal with.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Am I still…?”

“I had the charges dismissed. We interrogated the man who claimed to see you do it, and had him confess that it was made-up. He testified to what really happened, and it was more or less your story.”

Arthur’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful…! Er, assuming there aren’t charges for running off.”

“Arthur…” Lancelot sounded a little disappointed. Arthur cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Right. So…”

“You can come back anytime, you know.”

That was the heart of the conversation— Lancelot missed him, and Arthur missed him too, but Chicago was just one bad memory after another. He had no doubt if he returned, he’d sink into its quicksand and fight against it. Ozymandias would probably ask for more favors, or… whatever the case it was, Arthur was too content with New York to ever want to leave it. Something about that place just made him belong, now, from the people at the bodegas who recognized him, to the art store that marveled at how much paint he’d buy. It was home.

“I know, and maybe someday I will, but—”

That ‘but’ hung in the air for a while.

“I just… it’s a lot of bad memories. Not saying you were a part of them, just— Artoria died there, and then I got wrapped up in Gil’s case, and…”

“I understand.”

It didn’t sound like he really understood, or perhaps wished Arthur would come back despite understanding that a place could have so many dark features that were hard to ignore. Arthur perked up for a moment, reaching into his canvas bag and saying “Hold on a minute, I made you something.”

He pulled a painting of violets out of the canvas bag, before handing it off to Lancelot. “This is for you.”

“Arthur, it’s beautiful. Did you…?”

“Yes. I remembered they were your favorites.”

Lancelot looked at the painting for a long time. Every stroke of the brush, every bit of the texture had been made with love. It belonged in a museum, or at least in a gallery. Arthur’s signature hid in the very bottom right corner, proof that it was his work. 

“I… thank you. You did this for me?”

“I started it after the first phone call we had.”

Arthur handed him the canvas bag so he could transport it safely, but Lancelot just wanted to stare at it for a few minutes longer, before flipping it over and reading a short message Arthur had included behind the painting.

“…”

The urge to embrace him was strong, but he knew this time it wouldn’t be so platonic, so he bit down the urge and tucked the painting away. The rest of the conversation was filled with idle chitchat, trying to catch up on one another’s lives, warmly and kindly, like old friends should have. Arthur was grateful for him, so deeply that he didn’t ever want Lancelot to forget it, and he wouldn’t.

—

Many, _many_ years later, Lancelot would be in that same house in the suburbs of Chicago with his grandchildren visiting, and they’d always point out the painting. They knew a famous artist had made it, and his daughter had asked him if he ever planned on donating it to a Museum. He told her that when he was gone, she was free to do as she wished with it, but so long as he lived, that painting would be his greatest treasure.


	14. Chapter 14

But back in the 1950s, Arthur had an art show he needed to attend.

He dressed up to the nines, a simple black suit with a tie Adel had picked out for him. The girl had long since moved out of their house, but she was still a close member of their family. She’d since married a young gentleman with the kind of expression that never wavered, but she knew their depths and could occasionally get them to smile. The two of them would be at the art show tonight, and he was looking forward to greeting them.

“You got another love letter,” Gilgamesh complained from the other room, and Arthur laughed gently to himself as he fixed his tie, walking over to Gilgamesh to take it. He held it just out of Arthur’s reach and began to read aloud the completely uncalled for things this young woman had written about his paintings, and how she could see into Arthur’s soul through them.

“If your paintings are a gateway to the soul, then I’ve examined every corner of it. She doesn’t know half of it. Should I burn it?”

“Come on, Gil, it’s flattering. Somewhat… but I’m not sure I want to read much more of it, either.” He took the letter and folded it gently before tossing it in the bin. He’d gotten his fair share of admirers, but some were more dedicated than others, and focused on the ‘bachelor’ part of ‘confirmed bachelor’. He fixed Gil’s bowtie, made sure both of them looked as proper as possible before leaving their apartment and getting into Gilgamesh’s (brand new) red Cadillac.

They’d park in the employee parking lot behind the gallery, just so he wouldn’t get swarmed right away. This was his first Art Show in a while, and people were ready to buy or outbid one another on his work. He was always a little bit overwhelmed by the positive feedback, but he supposed it wasn’t so bad. Better to have it than be ignored, as he’d learned the hard way.

He was greeted by the museum curator, A young woman named Oui, who gave him the whole lowdown of the situation. They were bound to be hounded by press tonight, so look pretty and smile as much as you could. There was also going to be a famous playwright here looking for inspiration for his next play, so be extra welcoming to him, too. Also, several actresses and actors…

Arthur sort of drifted off mid-conversation as Gil paid rapt attention to it. He was looking around at his paintings, mostly still life, but a few lively pictures and portraits surrounding him. Adel had been a kind model for whenever he needed one, but Gilgamesh was the subject of the biggest painting in the room. It was an elegant painting of the man, gaze cast off to the side with a drink in his hand, and Arthur had deliberately left the painting untitled, because what he really wanted to name it wouldn’t be so accepted.

“Arthur?” Oui snapped him back to attention. “We’re opening now. Remember to smile! Be chatty! Don’t disappear upstairs like you did last time!”

Arthur nodded, and slowly, patrons started flooding in. He balked as a painting sold at a considerable price within the first fifteen minutes. He didn’t even remember spending a whole lot of time on that one, either, maybe a week at most. Still, he didn’t dare say it to the person who bought it. He merely thanked them for their patronage and asked that they take good care of it.

People liked him because he was humble, a man from overseas who simply loved to paint, whose accent was fading but it could still be heard in certain lilts of his voice. He lacked the dramatics of Dali and other painters of his time, but he always had something to say about every piece. What inspired him that day, who he was thinking of, what he felt it represented. It was a lot of hard work, keeping up with people who saw more in his paintings than he himself did, but he was an expert on faking it, at times.

It was when he saw a familiar face from long ago that Arthur was nearly beside himself.

“William Shakespeare?”

He’d been standing at the picture of Gilgamesh, admiring it. “Ah, Arthur. Long time no see, hm?”

“I…” He felt a little panicked, to be honest. What if Moriarty was with him?

“Oh, don’t worry about a thing. I’m here alone tonight,” As if he could read his very mind. “How much for this painting?”

“Oh, it isn’t for sale.”

“A pity,” Shakespeare said, shaking his head. “I think it’s a perfect portrait of a lover. It would serve as a great inspiration in my writing room.”

“Could you say that a little quieter, please?”

Shakespeare laughed. “Ah, of course. Still… I’ll find inspiration in one of your works tonight, make no mistake, and I will be bringing that painting home with me.”

“I’d act fast if I were you, in that case.”

“Where did that modesty of yours go? Hahaha! Still… you’re not wrong.” Shakespeare looked at Arthur curiously. “I feel like you’re dying to ask me something, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes… is Mor—”

“Pah! Too bad I won’t tell you a thing. Mystery is the spice of life, and finding things out too soon spoils the fun if you find out at all.” There was a mischievous glint in his eye. “But I would say if he hasn’t bothered you in this long, there’s nothing to worry about, no?”

“… I guess.”

“And I certainly wouldn’t be turning up to your art shows, would I?”

“True—”

“Arthur,” Shakespeare patted his shoulder and spoke. “Listen, and listen well; _there is a tide in the affairs of men. Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune_. Take advantage of this free-spirited time you have. I do not know how long it’ll last, as is life, but let me assure you, so long as you keep your hands out of the mud, it won’t drag you back in.”

It left Arthur a little confused, but he understood what Shakespeare meant at the very least; seize the opportunity you have, and Arthur hadn’t let go of it since. As the playwright wandered off to secure a painting, Arthur found himself wandering back to Gilgamesh, as he was so often prone to do.

“You’d think these people were my fans, not yours, judging by how badly they wanted that painting,” Gilgamesh said, clearly chuffed. “I can’t blame them, now, can I? It’s gorgeous. You captured my likeness perfectly. I heard an amount in six digits being thrown around for that painting on the higher end, and I almost wanted to sell it for you.”

“Never. That painting is my favorite.”

“Because I’m your favorite?”

Arthur would have leaned in to kiss him, and he did have to fight that urge, but instead, he merely laughed and took a champagne flute from one of the waiters walking nearby. Another painting was to their left— this one, of Artoria.

Also not for sale, it had a melancholy air to it. It was very recognizably her, but the edges were fuzzy, like a memory that was starting to lose its hold. Arthur could have painted her by the photographs he had, but instead, he chose to paint her from what he could remember, and though he could recognize her, there was something sad about it. He didn’t want to forget her, but with her memory came pain draped over all of the good parts of their life they shared.

“She would have loved it,” Gilgamesh said.

“She would have loved a lot of things she missed out on.”

Gilgamesh could tell Arthur’s mind had suddenly gone to that place, that dark hole that sorrowful memories spiraled into, and he took a hold of his arm and lead him to a painting of Adel brushing her hair.

“Are you going to sell this one?”

“It feels odd to sell a portrait of your sister… I was planning on giving it to her as a gift for her wedding.”

“And what a fine gift it will be.”

Gilgamesh, quietly and unobtrusively, lead Arthur from painting to painting, asking what he thought of it, laughing whenever someone came over to take down the price tag, and mark it as ‘sold’. He told Arthur he’d be a millionaire of his own making by the end of the night, but Arthur wasn’t focused on that at all.

“This brings back good memories…” Arthur spoke, quietly. “Of art shows in Chicago, back before everything went wrong. You paid for my art lessons, you showed my paintings to everyone who’d look at them. You’d tell them I was a savant. I don’t think I’m anything like that at all, I think you were just— dedicated. Dedicated to making me believe I could pursue something like this, and out of that came all of this. I really owe you a lot, Gilgamesh. I do.”

“It made you happy,” Gilgamesh responded, quietly. “As sappy as that is, and believe me, I feel like I’m gagging on sugar— to see you find your place helped me find my own.”

Arthur thought back to the night that Gilgamesh kissed him and his whole secret life began to crumble around him, secrets he kept from his own family for fear of shame and regret. He knew he was completely and utterly wrapped around this man’s finger— he’d do anything for him, and he’d proven it, too. If it had taken going overseas to find a new life with him, he’d have done it. Still, Arthur appreciated him, and never felt like Gilgamesh had ever used him— his pride would never allow him to do such a thing.

If Gilgamesh had found his place by staying by Arthur’s side, what more could he ask for?

The evening stretched onward, with most of the paintings selling. Arthur had the opportunity to chat with more than a few famous actors and see them quickly snap up his paintings. It filled him with an odd sense of pride that he’d found his fame before he died, and he wondered how history would reflect on him. Would they ever have guessed his relationship with Gilgamesh? Probably, but he supposed that would happen once he was long gone, or there came a time he was able to say it himself.

Too many thoughts of the past and future were flooding his mind. He turned towards Gilgamesh and asked him quietly if they could head upstairs, just as Oui had forbidden. He nodded, and the two headed up the art gallery steps. This was a venue used for weddings from time to time, and though Arthur knew they’d never be married, he wanted to sit with him in those grandiose rooms and imagine what it’d be like.

In fact, he had something in his pocket that he wasn’t sure he’d give Gilgamesh tonight. A ring was so obvious, he thought, and even more obvious if worn on a specific finger, so he got one that would fit his index finger perfectly. As they looked out the large bay windows at the city that evening, no stars twinkling in the sky, but the vast blue visible, Arthur slowly reached for his hand.

Gilgamesh laughed, as if Arthur’s neediness was amusing, but took hold of his hand anyway.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

Arthur nodded slightly. “It was interesting seeing Shakespeare again.”

Gilgamesh bristled, if just slightly. “What did he say?”

“Predictably, nothing that would help us, but I think he implied we’ll be fine. In his own way.”

“Maybe we should go and see one of his plays. The man may have terrible taste in men, but I hear he’s a fine writer.”

“We’ve been, remember? A Midsummer’s Night Dream, just a few years ago. That was the one he was writing when…”

“… ah, yes.”

They stood in silence for a few more moments.

“What do you think would have happened if you were never framed for murder?” Arthur asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… if we were never reunited, do you think we’d still be living that old life? Would you have gone out of your way to find me again? Or…”

“…” It was a hard question to answer, certainly one Gilgamesh wasn’t prepared for. They could have been living miserable lives in Chicago, thinking of one another but never bridging that gap. One of the worst things to happen to Gilgamesh might have turned out to be one of the best things, at the same time. Life could be cruel like that, hiding irony in every corner of misery.

“I think I would have found you again.”

“Oh?” Arthur sounded intrigued.

“I can’t stay away from you for very long. You have always fascinated me in the best ways, and even when we were apart, I’d spend time wondering what you were doing. Wondering how something of _mine_ was handling themselves not being in my collection. Wondering when I’d be able to slip out of that life and find you again.”

“You really planned that? You had everything then. I don’t know what having a sad man would have done for you.”

“That’s because you only viewed yourself as such. I saw something so much more. Broken, of course, but every piece was in place to put back together. Still very valuable.”

“…” Arthur squeezed his hand a little tighter, smiling warmly at him before looking out over the night sky. “I love you, you know.”

“I do know.”

“And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I know that too.”

Arthur leaned in and kissed him, placing one hand behind the back of his head and tilting ever so slightly so that he could kiss as deeply as possible. Gilgamesh received him warmly, hand sliding up Arthur’s so he could tangle his fingers with his. This was his treasure, something no heist could steal and no jail cell could separate. Arthur was finally put back together, whole again with him by his side.

As Gilgamesh’s hand slipped by Arthur’s pocket playfully, he noticed the shape outlined with in it. Without saying anything, he slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved the velvet box Arthur had been trying to hide.

“What’s this?”

“I— uh, I was saving that for…”

Gilgamesh opened it without saying a word. It was an elegantly carved golden band, vintage and beautiful. Arthur knew without having to ask him that he preferred older treasures to new ones, as new tended to be mass produced and old ones were one of a kind, depending on the source. Gilgamesh looked at him as if he were about to laugh, but didn’t.

“You were seriously planning on giving this to me?”

“I… hope it’s not ridiculous of me to want to.”

“No… you’re so traditional, Arthur. I was somewhat expecting something like this.”

Before Arthur could say it was meant for the index finger, Gilgamesh slipped it onto his ring finger.

“Fits perfectly. You have a good eye for this sort of thing, Arthur.”

Arthur blushed slightly, knowing it didn’t fit a man his age. “Well… I’m glad. Truly, I am. Maybe someday there’ll be a time where you can give me one, too.”

Gilgamesh gave a soft chuckle before putting his hand around Arthur’s shoulder and leaning down slightly for another kiss. This time, he couldn’t possibly care less if someone saw them, but because he knew Arthur would if someone like Oui came marching up the steps to find them, he let the kiss linger only for a few moments. The view from the window included the bright lights of the far off Coney Island, surrounded by the sparkling gold light that lit up the city at night by the streetlamps.

He could stay like this forever, but there was a party that demanded Arthur’s presence almost as much as Gilgamesh did. He gave Arthur’s shoulder a soft squeeze before heading back downstairs to make sure no one gave Oui a number too high to refuse for the painting of him. Arthur lingered behind him for a little while longer to take in the sight, to put the empty ring box back in his pocket and wonder a little while longer if this was the life he really deserved— he’d done so much, and yet the payoff had been so kind. He didn’t know what history would hold for him next, but he knew that he wouldn’t face it alone, as he’d done that November 1st that felt so long ago.

He’d go downstairs to talk to the guests, watch in quiet surprise as people outbid one another for paintings, making a mental note to donate at least half of what he made tonight to a charity of something well-deserving, but for the most of the night, he couldn’t keep his eyes off Gilgamesh, occasionally gazing at the ring on his finger with a sense of pride and slight embarrassment.

Gilgamesh would occasionally notice his stare, look back on him, and smile.

Arthur would rub the back of his neck and sheepishly smile back.

In years long after their time, people would still come together to fight over Arthur’s paintings, pouring over secret journals of his to find out the truth behind his inspiration. No painting would be more sought after or more beloved than the one he painted of Gilgamesh.

If he’d known at the time that his would-be great-grandniece would stop and stare at the picture, wondering about the person who wrote it as their parent told them all about how many adventures he had, how crazy his life had been, and how he always painted out of love, he’d feel something like a pinprick of pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beat NaNo in half a month, yay.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the researched, edited version!


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